To Live Is To Choose
by KatieThomas'95
Summary: JJ went missing almost 3 years ago. When a new case takes the team to Boston, they stumble upon a hope of finding her. But the world JJ has lived in for the past 3 years is a harsh one, will the JJ they find be the same JJ they lost? Warning: mention of torture, attempted sexual assault, mental conditioning. A bit AU
1. Chapter 1

A/N I've been thinking about this story for a while, so long in fact that to think it through properly I'm just going to upload it and take it as it comes. It may be a little confusing as well (its a little AU) but give it a chance, I think you'll enjoy it :D anything written in **bold** is Russian- so yes, JJ has learnt to speak Russian, you'll learn why later... Enjoy

Chapter 1

"**Hey, Crow, you alright?**" Jay asked, looking at Crow who had slowly been turning a sickly shade of green since they left the docks. "**You don't look so good, not turning Cheap on me are you?**" The floor of the cabin swayed beneath them and Crow's snort of disgust quickly turned into a nauseated grimace. He clamped his hand over his mouth and fought to maintain some level of control over his body.

"**Who are you calling Cheap?"** he replied tersely, removing a body from the pile on the tarpaulin and hoisting it over his shoulder in a fireman's hold. Jay laughed as his face visibly paled; seasickness and the cloying odour of decomposing flesh was not a good combination.

"**The great Crow survives Legionnaires to be struck down by seasickness.**" She smirked. She didn't much like body-runs but that was because she felt uncomfortable in close company with the Watchers rather than an aversion to corpses or the ocean.

The pair jumped as a loud bang sounded from the deck, followed by a shout. "**What's taking so long down there? Get a move on!"**

Any joviality vanished as Crow hurried to the steps, bowed slightly under the weight of the body, and climbed up onto the deck. Jay quickly followed suit, not even registering the smell or the congealed blood that strove to weaken her grip on the corpse as she lifted it. The body was heavy, just her luck to have picked Bantam. She rolled her eyes.

Crow was making his way to the stern, keeping his eyes on the floor so as not to anger the Watcher. Jay did the same, being careful to watch where she stepped- she didn't fancy having Bantam's body crush her if she slipped. The chill wind tore through her thin clothing as though it were paper, freezing her petite body to the core. Her bare feet felt like blocks of ice. Whilst the ghosts' uniform was practical at home, it was inadequate protection against the elements of the Atlantic.

_No, you shouldn't think that_ Jay scolded herself, _the Lieutenant provides for the strong, only the weak require more than they are given._ And she had been given a lot, just 3 weeks ago the Lieutenant gave her the grey zip up hoodie she was wearing now in return for helping out on body-runs. Even now she wore her hoodie with pride; it had pockets. That she had been allowed an item with pockets was a demonstration of trust from the Lieutenant.

She let Bantam fall from her shoulders onto the deck and wiped her brow. **"You alright to grab the last one?" **she asked Crow quietly, wary of the Watcher behind her, **"I'll get the weight."**

"**Sure,"** Crow replied, before making his way back below deck to haul up the remaining body. Jay grabbed a coil of rope that was lying on the deck a few feet away, before kneeling next to Bantam. Whilst pretending to tie the rope around his wrists, she turned her body slightly so that she could remove something from her pocket. It was a piece of string, tied into a crude necklace, holding on it a gold ring. She wrapped it around his wrist, so that the ring lay in his palm, then closed his hand around it.

Half of her mind hissed in irritation at her weakness, giving in to sentiment in such a fashion, but the other half knew that Bantam deserved better than to be buried along with the Cheaps. He had been better than the rest of them, had kept a desperate hold on his humanity despite the life he had found himself living. Humanity is hard to find in the world of ghosts. In another world he might have been kind.

_Be at peace_ she thought to him, not really knowing why she was thinking to a body. Bantam was gone. Shaking away the weakness, she quickly tied his wrists as Crow returned with the final body. She gestured quickly to the rope and walked back down into the cabin to fetch the weight, a rough chunk of reinforced concrete.

As she crouched to pick up the weight she heard the cabin door bolt shut behind her. She whirled around to see the Watcher stood in front of the now locked door, leering at her. She swallowed, her eyes darting around the room, searching for some way to escape. There was none. The Watcher walked slowly toward her, a greedy look in his eye, enjoying the fear that was beginning to show on her face.

She backed into the corner as he pulled out a gun and pointed it at her. "**Remove your weapons, Ghost**" he commanded. She did as ordered, and with trembling hands removed the belt that held two of her knives, the one that was resting at her hip, and the other that was lying flat against the small of her back. The third knife was strapped to her thigh, which she also removed.

The Watcher was now less than a foot away; he smelt of stale cigarettes and alcohol. He tucked the gun back into his belt. Jay couldn't help but shiver as his lustful eyes looked her up and down, hungrily taking in every detail. He made a show of smelling her, taking a long, deep breath, before suddenly shoving her against the wall of the cabin.

She was trapped between the wall and him, helpless as he pawed his hand up her thigh whilst using his other hand to pin her shoulder against the wood panelling. She bit her lip, willing herself not to react as he moved his hand up and over her hip.

"**Sir!**" Crow shouted through the door. "**Sir! We've got to go, Coastguard 1 mile north-west**, **approaching fast! We've got two minutes tops.**"

"**Shit**" the Watcher swore, his lust forgotten as he pushed away and leapt up onto deck. Relief flooded Jay as she slid down the wall to floor, breathing heavily. Her head was spinning and she felt sick. She flinched as the Watcher shouted down from on deck. "**Mutt! Get your lazy arse up here!**"

She carefully got to her feet and made her way up on deck. "**Get these bodies in the water**" the Watcher snarled, slamming the butt of his gun into her shoulder as she scrambled past him to where Crow was hauling the chain of bodies to the small gate at the back of the boat. If they were caught with the bodies they were all as good as dead.

"**Ready?**" Crow asked. Jay nodded. "**One, two, three**" On three they pushed with all their strength, send the bodies tumbling into the water. Within seconds they were swallowed by the darkness, and not a moment too soon; the Coastguard was now about 50 meters from the front of the little fishing boat, their view of the stern mercifully blocked by the cabin.

"**Crow, hide your weapons you dumb bastard!**" the Watcher yelled. Crow removed the crowbar from his belt and left it leaning against the side of the boat just in case and adjusted his knives so that they were hidden by his hoodie. The Watcher walked over to them just as the Coastguard speedboat drew alongside them. Jay winced and raised her arm to block out the blinding light of the Coastguard's searchlight as it was turned onto their tiny vessel. Crow did the same, squinting into the light. "**Do not say a single word. Am I understood?**" the Watcher hissed.

"**Yes, Sir**" the two Ghosts replied in unison. The Coastguard was now right alongside them and they could hear one of the officers shouting at them.

"US Coastguard. Please remain where you are whilst we board your vessel and keep your engines off!" After a minute or so, the Coastguard vessel was lashed to **the Hearse **and one officer had climbed over. The other remained at the helm of the speedboat.

"Is there a problem, Officer?" the Watcher said in a heavy Russian accent.

"You are illegally trespassing in a protected marine breeding area. I'd like to see some form of ID and take a look around your vessel." The officer replied.

"You know what, Officer? I have left my ID back at the docks…" the Watcher made a show of patting down his pockets and smiling apologetically.

"Your name, Sir?"

"Oleg Svinsky."

"And yours?" The officer turned to Crow and Jay.

"Ah, sorry, Officer. These two speak no English. 'Thick as they come' I think is how you say it." The Watcher laughed and smacked Crow over the back of the head. "They are my cousins, Mikhail and Katya. I am showing them the sights as you say." He chuckled again. He turned to Crow. "**Smile**" he hissed. Crow smiled and Jay followed suit.

The officer did not look convinced as he looked the Ghosts up and down. They were shivering slightly, and quite rightly; they were not dressed for any amount of time out on the water. The man wore a thin pair of shorts and a t-shirt, both of which had probably been white once but now were a disconcerting mixture of faded grey material and brown stains. His zip up sweater was also thin. The woman was dressed the same, but in the place of shorts and t-shirt she wore ¾ length leggings and a tank top.

The closer he looked, the more uncomfortable he felt about the entire situation; the woman's hair was close cropped, no longer than her companion's, and she had a nasty scar that curved around her eye and across her cheek. Both of them had bare feet.

"Your occupation, Sir?" the officer said, at the same time as signalling his partner to join him on the fishing boat. This did not go unnoticed by the Watcher.

"I am fisherman" he replied, just as the partner joined them. The first officer regarded him dubiously.

"A fisherman with no nets or gear?" he said suspiciously. He turned to his partner. "Johnny take a look round the cabin while I finish chatting with Mr Svinsky." The second officer nodded and disappeared into the cabin. No sooner had the door closed behind him than the Watcher had the first officer in a choke hold and a gun to his temple.

"Make a sound and I blow your brains out." He snarled, pressing the gun harder against the man's skull for effect. "Now, very slowly, remove your weapon and hand it to me." The officer did as requested, turning his weapon over to the Watcher, who tossed it into the sea. The man looked round to the Ghosts but they gazes were steely; he would find no help from them.

"**Take over.**" The Watcher hissed to Crow, transferring the man to his grasp. Crow continued the choke hold on him, keep his eyes fixed on the Watcher, who was making his way to the door of the cabin, waiting for the order he knew was coming. The man caught in his grip was slowly turning red and he started to struggle against him. The Watcher saw this and nodded. In one swift jerk, Crow broke his neck. Without a word, Jay helped him to throw the body over the side.

Not a moment later, the second officer appeared on deck again, holding Jay's knives that he had found in the cabin. He didn't even have time to note the absence of his partner before the Watcher shot him in the head. The gunshot was sharp in the night, quickly followed by a dull thud as the man's body hit the deck. The Watcher dragged him to the side of the boat, leaving a stark trail of blood in his wake. It was as though someone had taken a very large paint brush and a pot of dark red paint and smeared it all across the deck. Except that blood is warm, and bodies are heavier than paint brushes.

Again, Jay helped Crow to hoist the body over the side.

"**Mutt, gear up**" the Watcher said, gesturing to the knives which now lay abandoned on the floor, "**Crow, get us free from that damn boat.**" Crow leapt into action. "**And then both of you get cleaning, I want to be able to eat my dinner off of this deck by the time we get back to the docks. Do I make myself understood?**"

"**Yes, Sir**" the Ghosts replied, hurriedly setting to work. Before long, they were speeding away, leaving the lonely white light of the deserted Coastguard vessel in the night.

Please leave a review and let me know what you think, reviews always make my day. Fair warning, updates will be somewhat sporadic so I shan't be giving you any sort of timetable yet. If you have any questions, review or pm me :)


	2. Chapter 2

A/N I know the start of this story is confusing at the moment but bear with me, I will clear almost everything up for you in the next chapter- this is a short setup chap. In the meantime, enjoy and muse on this chapter. Russian is in bold.

Oh and I don't own criminal minds... I'm working on that...

Chapter 2

_**BAU Headquarters, Quantico VA**_

"Now that everyone is here, let's get started." Hotch said, glancing around the table at which everyone was seated. "2 nights ago, two Coastguard officers were murdered and dumped at sea. Their bodies have since been recovered." He clicked the button on the remote and two bodies appeared on the screen. "Footage from the camera on the coastguard vessel showing the murders taking place was also recovered."

Morgan frowned, "Sounds like a pretty open and shut case to me, Hotch. Why did we get called in on this?" Hotch clicked again, flicking to the footage. They all watched unflinchingly as the tall, well-built man in the shorts and t-shirt broke the first officer's neck, quickly followed by the shorter man, dressed in jeans, boots and jacket, shooting the second officer in the head as he emerged from the cabin.

Hotch continued. "Divers searching for the bodies of the missing officers found the bodies of 5 other people, tied together with rope and weighted down, a short distance away. Until evidence tells us otherwise, I think we can safely assume that both sets of murders were committed by the same trio." Each profiler nodded their agreement.

"We can do a full briefing on the jet, but we need to get a move on. Wheels up in thirty."

* * *

_**The BAU jet**_

"It's unusual to see a trio carrying out murders together but a trio with this kind of group dynamic is bizarre" said Blake.

"Watching the footage again, it's fascinating actually," Reid continued turning the screen of the laptop around to face Blake, "Physically speaking, the taller unsub is far superior to the other man and yet his actions suggest he is totally subservient to him. Even when the smaller one hits him," Reid rewound the footage to that point so the team could watch again, "he doesn't retaliate in any way."

"The way the man and woman are dressed would certainly support that; they have no form of footwear or protective clothing. Despite that, they don't complain to the dominant unsub. Watch their body language. These murders were not planned, they were unexpected, but neither so much as blinks when their partner attacks the first officer or the second." Added Morgan.

"Reid, can you turn the audio up and flick forward a bit, to just before the unsubs leave the scene?" asked Prentiss. Reid quickly obliged, letting the footage play again just as the second officer's body was thrown overboard. Prentiss frowned in concentration, listening intently.

After thirty seconds or so she looked up again. "They're definitely Russian. I can't make out any kind of name for the dominant, he is only addressed as 'Sir' but the other two… The woman he calls _shavka_, it means cur or mutt. The man he calls _vorona_, or crow."

"They're certainly an interesting choice of name. Without a doubt they confirm the heirachy within the group." Mused Blake.

Reid looked up from the file on his lap suddenly; it was a crime scene photos of one of the five unidentified victims. Without a word he rewound the footage by a fraction and paused it. He looked from the screen to the file and to the screen again, looking almost excited.

"Kid, what've you got? Quit it with that little grin you do and spill it." Morgan said good-naturedly.

"Guys, I think one of the victims may have been a fourth unsub. Here," Reid said, pointing at the picture in his hand, "this John Doe has three black squares tattooed onto the left side of his neck, in a line one above the other. Now look at the woman just as crouches down to pick up the knives" he continued, directing their attention to the laptop screen and zooming in on the image, "We just get a glimpse of them. Two matching tattoos."

"Okay, Reid, when we touch down in Boston, I want you and Prentiss to head down to the ME's office and take a closer look at our victims. The rest of us will work with local officers to determine any details that may have been left out of these files and start working on a preliminary profile."

"It's not conclusive," said Hotch, "but it does seem too neat to be coincidence…

"It's not just that" replied Reid, "the victim has another tattoo, on the inside of his wrist." He pointed back to the file again, this time showing a different photograph. "Right at the start of the footage, the woman raises her arm to shield her face from the searchlight. You can see when the cuff of her sweater slips that she also has a black tattoo in the exact same place. The footage is too blurry to match it to the tattoo of the victim but like you said Hotch, it's too neat to be a coincidence."

Reid dug his phone out his pocket and dialled. After a single ring Garcia picked up. "Hey sweet cheeks, what can the Empress of all-Knowing do for you today?"

"Garcia, can you clean up the security footage from the coastguard vessel?"

"Already on it boy-genius. I'll be running those arseholes through every facial rec database out there as soon as my babies are done working their magic."

"Can you also send through photos of the unsubs' tattoos and any other identifying marks?"

"You know I can Boy-genius, are there any other services you wish to request of the Cyber-Queen?"

"Not at the moment, no."

"Oky doke. Garcia out." The tech-analyst signed off cheerfully

* * *

_**Shipping Yard Warehouse, Boston MA**_

Jay grimaced as a creeping ache worked its way across her chest again; Crow narrowed his eyes. "**Chest pain?**" he asked, a small flash of concern flitting across his normally inscrutable face.

"**It's nothing, I'm fine**" Jay replied quickly, adjusting her grip on the heavy crate they were carrying over to the truck.

"**How long?**" Crow persisted.

"**A day or so, maybe a little longer. It's nothing, Crow, really**" Jay said tiredly. Her head was spinning slightly and she could feel the nausea building in her stomach.

"**Jay, that's serious. You know what happened to the others…**"

"**Well there's nothing I can do about it is there?**" she snapped angrily. To anyone but Jay, Crow would have looked unfazed by her short outburst. But Jay knew him better, better than anyone else in the world, and she didn't miss the hurt that whispered in his features for a fraction of a second before his stoic mask was back in place. "**I'm sorry, I didn't mean to get angry at you.**" she murmured.

She wanted to say more, but the world started to spin around her and a hoarse fit of coughing tore through her chest. Her knees gave out beneath her and she collapsed to the ground, coughing uncontrollably. Crow, unable to hold the full weight of the loaded crate alone, let it crash to the floor. The sound of shattering glass echoed around the warehouse, drawing the attention of Watchers and Cheaps alike.

"**Jay!**" Crow shouted, as she continued cough violently, her entire body heaving. Her eyes widened as she saw the small spots of blood that speckled her palm where she had covered her mouth. She wiped them away on the ground so that Crow wouldn't see.

"**What's going on over here?**" one of the Watchers yelled, running over with his whip in hand.

"**Jay, get up!**" Crow hissed desperately, wrapping his arms around her waist in an attempt to physically lift her upright. Her coughing was beginning to subside now but her legs were trembling; she was having to lean on the crate just to keep from falling back to the floor. Crow's hand was on her shoulder, he was telling her to breathe, to calm down, to stand to attention. But her eyes were glazed and her mind was confused; her brain wasn't registering what he was saying. Then suddenly the warmth of his hand on her shoulder was gone, he was gone.

In his place was a vicious blow of a whip, and then another, and another. She found herself back on the floor, cowering in the foetal position against the side of the crate. She was barely even aware of the small shrieks that escaped her as each fresh bite of the toughened leather tore away a strip of flesh. When the whipping finally ceased, she tentatively opened her eyes to see the Watcher towering over her.

"**Get up.**" He snarled.

Jay rushed to comply, but as she uncurled her screaming body, he drove his boot into her stomach, leaving her back where she started, but completely unable to breath. The Watcher grabbed her wrist and yanked her upright- she might have screamed if she'd had any air in her lungs- before tossing her over to two other Watchers, who let her tumble to the ground before forcing her to stand again.

"**Lock her in the Dark. The Lieutenant can decide her punishment when he returns from Washington.**" The first Watcher barked.

"**No! Please! I'm begging you, not the Dark! Please!**" JJ screamed as the other Watchers began to drag her away, "**I'm sorry! I didn't mean to! Please!**" she screamed again but the Watcher just laughed cruelly, watching as she sagged in the arms of her captors, dread and shame clouding her eyes.

Beside him, Crow looked distraught; catching her eye, he mouthed to her "**I'm sorry.**"

Penny for your thoughts? I do have a question for you, do you want Will and Henry? I can't decide whether or not to write them in. It's up to you :)


	3. Chapter 3

A/N hello again, thanks for all the reviews and follows/favourites, they mean the world to me :) this chapter turned out longer than I expected so the full on explaining this odd situation has been postponed until my next update. In the meantime, enjoy.

_**Shipping Yard Warehouse, Boston MA**_

Jay's entire body was cramping and burning; she had been crouched like a child with her fingers interlocked behind her head, facing the wall, for what felt like an age. In reality it had only been five minutes but fear and dread were slowly taking over her mind, dragging out each agonising second. Finally, the Watcher returned; Jay could hear the shackles he carried clinking and rattling in his hand. "**Stand up and turn around**" he barked, and Jay hastened to obey.

She didn't make a sound as he fastened the cuffs around her wrists and ankles, even though the feeling of the cold metal encircling her skin sent waves of panic flashing through her; she knew exactly what that sensation signalled. When the Watcher drew a syringe filled with a clear liquid from his pocket her resolve crumbled. "**Please, you don't have to do this, you don't understand-**" she begged, curling her arms into her chest in an effort to protect her veins from the terror held within the syringe.

The Watcher, however, ignored her pleas and yanked on the chain between her wrists, forcing her arms straight out in front of her. "**There is nothing to understand. Orders are orders.**" And with that he plunged the needle into a vein in the crook of her elbow and injected the liquid.

A second Watcher was stationed nearby; he opened the door to the Dark and a silver-grey mist spilled out from its black abyss. The first Watcher shoved her forward and she stumbled onto her knees. She could already feel the drug working its way through her system; the edges of her vision were blurred and colours that didn't exist were beginning to distort the Dark in front of her. The Watcher hauled her to her feet and threw her inside, all but dragging her a few metres to where there were two rings embedded in the wall and the floor- to which he fastened the chains restraining her.

Then suddenly he was gone, and then as the door of the meat locker slammed shut behind him, so was the light. She was alone in the Dark.

* * *

_**Medical Examiner's Office, Boston MA**_

"Hello, Dr Betker? I'm Supervisory Special Agent Emily Prentiss from the Behavioural Analysis Unit of the FBI, this is my colleague SSA Reid. I believe you've been expecting us?" Emily said, shaking hand with the middle-aged man in front of her.

"Ah yes, the BPD informed me a couple of hours ago that they were requesting the assistance of the BAU on the multiple homicide. It's certainly an unusual case. Please, follow me." Dr Betker replied, pushing open the double doors that led to the morgue.

"I'm assuming you'd like to examine victim number 4 first? John Doe, height of 6 ft?"

"Yes actually, specifically his tattoos- preliminary analysis suggests that he was a possible unsub before his death." Reid replied.

"His tattoos are certainly interesting, as small as they are. The ones on his neck more so than the one on his wrist."

"How so, Doctor?" asked Prentiss.

"It would be easier for me to show you." The doctor replied, showing them over to a stainless steel table where a body lay covered by a white sheet. Dr Betker drew back the sheet and retrieved a black light from his desk drawer, giving Reid the chance to take a closer look at the tattoos. Nothing about them was different from the photos he had studied on the jet, just the same 3 black squares.

Dr Betker turned the John Doe's head so that the tattoos were facing upward, then shone the black light over them. In each square, a blue series of letters and numbers glowed back at the two agents.

"Wow, he was tattooed with UV ink?" Prentiss said, somewhat surprised.

"Yes, and only in these black squares. Since I first stumbled upon them I've been over every inch of his body checking for any tattoos I may have missed during my preliminary examination and found none." The doctor replied.

"Do you mind if I take a quick photo?" Reid asked, getting out his phone.

"By all means."

Reid quickly snapped the tattoos. Prentiss frowned. "B2MA, P2PA, B3MD" she murmured, perplexed, "could they be initials of some kind? Of names?"

Reid of course looked thoughtful, enjoying the puzzle while it lasted. "I would need more detail to be absolutely certain but I think they refer to places, specifically cities. The second two letters correspond to postal abbreviations; MA- Massachusetts, PA- Pennsylvania, MD- Maryland. The first letters are a little more uncertain because there are so many places in those states beginning with those letters but I think we can safely assume that they refer to the major cities; Boston, Philadelphia and Baltimore. As for the numbers, I have no idea."

"And the hits just keep coming, Dr Spencer Reid without an answer- never thought I'd see the day." Emily smiled playfully, then resumed her serious FBI face. "Ignoring the numbers, the question is, why bother getting these tattoos? UV ink is designed so that a tattoo isn't on show and yet the black squares negate that function."

"It's clear the letters have a personal value, maybe one he chose only to reveal to those closest to him?" Reid mused, "But then as you say, why bother with the squares?"

"It's a mystery."

"This particular John Doe is full of mysteries I'm afraid. From what I have found, he was not a popular man. Almost a quarter of his body is covered in scar tissue; the majority of which appears to have been made by a knife during fights of some kind, others appear to be self-inflicted. The tattoo on his wrist is an enigma but it's being run through VICAP and CODIS as we speak,"

Prentiss looked down at the tattoo on the inside of the man's left wrist; it looked like some kind of code. It began with an odd symbol, one she had certainly never seen before, followed by a string of letters and numbers: ID.972.O.3/12.10M. The ME continued speaking.

"I also found a microchip embedded in the back of his neck."

Emily's eyes widened. "He's got a computer chip in his neck?"

"Not exactly," the ME replied, "It's the kind of chip you might inject a pet with, so that they can be identified if they go missing and turn up in an animal shelter."

"Oh." Emily almost looked disappointed. "Can we use the chip to identify him?"

"If we can it may take a while, the data our scanner picked up was encrypted. Techs are working on it at the moment but it will take time; the lab is pretty backlogged at right now."

"Is your scanner set up for a Bluetooth transfer?" Reid asked.

"Yes, why?" Betker passed over the scanner.

"I'll send the file through to our technical analyst back in Quantico, save your guys some time." Reid replied, setting up the Bluetooth connection with his phone.

"We may be able to identify him via the ring that was found on him." The doctor rifled through a box to his right and pulled out a small evidence bag. In it was a gold wedding band threaded onto a piece of string. Prentiss stepped forward to examine it, on the inner edge of the ring was an engraving '_T.H & A.N 06/02/09'_.

"Were any of the other victims found with personal items on them?" she asked.

"No, all were found entirely nude without jewellery or any other such items. The ring, as you can see, was attached to a piece of string and then wrapped around his wrist"

"That's interesting" Emily mused, filing that piece of information away for later. "What was cause of death?"

"For this John Doe, a ruptured cerebral aneurysm as a result of blunt force trauma to the skull. For the others, stab wound to the diaphragm, fatal laceration to the neck and strangulation. Our Jane Doe over here was also strangled. All had been severely beaten and tortured within hours of their deaths. Their bodies are covered in non-fatal contusions and lacerations."

"I'm going to call Garcia with the wedding band engraving and microchip data." Said Reid, dialling Penelope's number. Prentiss nodded, her mind whirring with theories and ideas. Garcia picked up before the second ring.

"What can the all-seeing goddess do for her young genius?"

"Hey, Garcia, I just sent you a file taken from a microchip found in one of the victim's necks. Can you decrypt it for us?" Reid asked.

"I'm on it junior G-man"

"Great, and I need you to go through marriage records for anything with the initials TH, AN and the date 06/02/09."

"Well it's a good thing I can multitask almost as well as I can pull off butterfly glasses. I'll call you with any updates."

"Okay, thanks Garcia" Reid hung up.

"We should check in with Hotch" Emily said.

"Good idea," Reid replied, then turned to Dr Betker, "Can you send us copies of all full autopsy reports when they're complete?"

"No problem."

"Thanks." Emily and Reid turned to leave, "this case just gets stranger and stranger."

* * *

_**Shipping Yard Warehouse, Boston MA**_

Jay could feel the drugs working their way through her system, wreaking havoc as they went; her skin felt clammy and her head was pounding. All around her strange coloured shadows crept towards her, before retreating at the last minute. Her heart leapt to her mouth as she heard a low growl behind her. No, it couldn't be behind her; her back was against the wall.

Oh God she could hear it moving. It sniffed the air, as though it could smell her rising fear. Suddenly a pair of menacing red eyes appeared out of the darkness. It was a dog, one of the ones kept and trained by the Washington First to keep his Ghosts in line. The hound snarled at her, baring its large yellow fangs. Then another appeared out of the blackness, swiftly followed by a third.

Jay's heart was pumping out of her chest and she had lost any semblance of control over her breathing; it was quick and ragged, so far beyond panicked that the air she dragged into her lungs tore at her throat. She was curled into the smallest possible ball, wedging herself tight up against the wall of the freezer.

Without warning the nearest dog lunged at her, sinking its teeth into her shoulder and tearing at the flesh. Fire ripped through her body as the second dog leapt forward mauled her leg. Jay screamed kicked out at the crazed animal, only to retreat again as the third attacked. Her world was a frenzy of shrieking pain and deafening screams. She could feel her body jerk and twitch as each fresh bite stabbed through her. And all the while her head felt like it was caught in a vice, slowly being crushed by the iron weight of the world.

She was crying out now, begging some unknown, unforgiving entity for it to stop, entirely at the mercy of the pain as it flashed furiously through her. Then suddenly she heard someone shouting, calling the dogs away. Her blood froze. It was him. The Washington First. She listened to the crack of a whip and the whining of the hounds as they withdrew.

The man crouched down in front of her and, placing a hand beneath her chin, lifted her face to meet his. She could hardly see him through the blood that blurred her vision. "**Do you want my protection?**" He asked her. Even in her current state she had the good sense to nod. He nodded as well, and smiled at her, then he took a knife from his belt and brought it up to her face.

He began to carve into her skin just above her right eye; it was a deep and jagged cut and the ethanol he had used to clean the blade stung. She knew she couldn't afford to make a sound. The cut itself was soon over. It was not too painful, it was his black eyes boring into hers that instilled in her a desperate wish to flee.

Her body tensed in dread as he finished with knife and brought forward a small glass bottle and brush. With the lightest of strokes, as though a painter taking care to perfect his masterpiece, he brushed the acid into the cut. Jay had all but bitten through the inside of her cheek in her desperate attempt to control the pain as it erupted like a white hot flare across her face.

He brought his lips close to her ear and whispered, "**You are mine**"

Hope you enjoyed this chapter. I don't have to decide about Will and Henry for a little while yet so if you want to weigh in then go for it. Please leave a review either way :D


	4. Chapter 4

A/N back a bit faster this time- its weird but I find these parts to the story easier to write. Hopefully this chapter should clear up some of the puzzles within this story, but as always if you have questions then PM me/ leave a review. Meh, leave a review anyway :)

Enjoy

Finally the little blue light that signalled safety flickered into life and the hallucinations began to retreat. Jay was breathing heavily, trying to fight back the bile in her throat. It was no use. Feeling her head spin, she leaned as far away from where she was sat as she could, straining against the chains, and threw up. There wasn't much to come up; lunch had been a long time ago and she had missed dinner. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and grimaced at the vile taste. She leaned back against the wall of the meat locker and shivered. Her breath curled up into the air in front of her as she tried to forget the memories of the dogs and her old Lieutenant; on the up side, at least Jason had stayed away this time.

Suddenly she realised she was not alone in the Dark. Two metres away, on the other side of the room, also shackled by his wrists and ankles, was a Cheap. He had been badly beaten but he was only a couple of days into his Training; they hadn't drugged him yet or used their more rigorous methods on him. She looked closer. It was the one who had killed Bantam.

By his feet was a metal tray of food, entirely untouched and now stone cold. "**If you're not going to eat that, pass it over here**" Jay said gruffly. The Cheap just looked back at her blankly. She hissed in annoyance. "**Stupid Cheap.**" She muttered to herself. She caught the Cheap's attention and pointed to herself, and then the tray of food. Finally he seemed to twig and slid the food over to her. Thankfully it came to rest less than a foot away from her side; she couldn't move much further than that in any direction.

She all but lunged toward the food. Although she still felt somewhat nauseous, she knew from past experience that eating helped to speed up the course of the drug through her system. On the plate were two slices of spam, some instant mashed potatoes and some tinned peas. She ate quickly, cramming handfuls of mash and peas into her mouth, leaving the spam until last.

She was just about to move onto the spam when she glanced back at the Cheap. He was staring at her in disbelief. "**What are you looking at, Cheap?**" She snarled aggressively, before remembering that the idiot didn't know what she was saying. Even so, the Cheap looked away, allowing Jay to make quick work of the spam left on the tray. Just as she was finishing she heard a voice.

"**What's a 'cheap'?**" the Cheap asked. Jay almost choked on the small mouthful she had been savouring. She looked up at him in shock.

"**You speak Russian?**" she replied, somewhat stunned, but also a bit suspicious; it was unusual for Cheaps to speak the Ghosts' language.

"**Yes**" the Cheap said uncertainly.

"**Good.**" Jay replied. The Cheap looked confused. "**The more you understand, the quicker you will learn. The quicker you learn, the better your chances of survival. You owe it to Bantam to survive.**"

"**Who is Bantam?**"

"**The man you killed.**" Jay said bluntly.

"**He was going to kill me. I had no choice.**" He protested. Jay snorted in derision and shook her head, wondering how he could be so blind.

"**There is always a choice. You weighed the value of your life against his. You made the decision to take his life in order to save your own.**"

"**I didn't want to kill him.**"

"**But you did. And now you must find a way to live with that. For his sake.**" Jay murmured. They stopped talking as Jay suddenly coughed violently, her entire body shuddering. Then as quickly as she started, she stopped, again noting the tiny specks of blood that appearing in her palm. She wiped them away.

"**You didn't answer my question.**" The Cheap said, "**What's a 'cheap'?**"

"**Any Ghost the Lieutenant buys in a batch from the Poachers. So, for example, you are a Cheap. What does the tattoo on your wrist say?" **

The Cheap frowned and looked at his wrist, then read out the code. "**There's a symbol that I don't recognise, followed by IL… 1-3-3-6… H…18C**" He paused, "**What does it mean?**"

"**It's a price tag of sorts, the final part is your value, the asking price if you like.**" Jay replied matter-of-factly. "**So the Lieutenant paid $1800 for you. The 'H' means that the Poachers didn't train you, you're raw material. This is part of why your value is lower; it means the Lieutenant has to train you himself, he can't put you straight into fights. Raw Cheaps are a gamble. 1336 is your ID number, so that your fight history can be recorded and tracked- it makes it easier for potential buyers to assess your value if the Lieutenant decides to resell you.**"

The Cheap looked at her in disbelief, then down at his wrist in disgust. Jay continued on emotionlessly. "**IL is the postal abbreviation of Illinois, you were taken from somewhere in Illinois, same as me. That weird symbol right at the start is the Poachers' signature. Poachers work in gangs across the country picking up product. By leaving their signature on the Ghosts they sell, they build up their reputation. **

**For example the Bluestings, the guys who sold Crow, are known for catching and selling in bulk. However, very little of their catch lasts more than a month or two. The Bluestings rely on quantity, not quality to make their money.** **The Sabers on the other hand go the other way round. They pick their catch carefully and train them over several weeks before making their sale. A Ghost from the Sabers has an 18 month life expectancy. This means the Sabers can sell them at a higher price and collect commission on their fights. Bantam was brought in by a crew like the Sabers; he was ranked 3****rd**** out of 12 in his batch. Damn good Ghost.**"

"**How do you know all of this?**" the Cheap asked.

"**I've been living in this world for almost three years now, picked up a thing or two along the way I guess.**" Jay replied, massaging the small of her back in an attempt to relieve the growing ache in her muscles.

"**Why do they call you 'Mutt'?**"

Jay froze, then leant backwards slightly and lifted the bottom of her tank top up, showing her stomach. Marring the skin of her torso were numerous scars, some silvered with age but others were still relatively new, about 6 months old. They were from dog bites. "**My old Lieutenant, the Washington First, had a penchant for training his dogs alongside his Ghosts.**" She said bitterly. "**We have to get our names from somewhere.**"

"**Why? What's your real name? I'm Rob by the way.**"

"**Forget that name. That name belongs to the Outside. The man belonging to that name is dead. From the moment you were taken your name became 1336 or Cheap. Just as my name is 1058, or Mutt.** **Your purpose now is to fight for the Lieutenant and to survive. Nothing else matters.**" Jay said sharply.

"**Crow calls you Jay.**" 1336 pointed out stubbornly.

"**Crow is different.**" Jay snapped, the look on her face making it clear she would not elaborate on that fact, or appreciate any further questions on the matter from the Cheap.

"**Okay then, what do you mean, fight? I'm not going to fight anybody. I don't want to kill anyone.**" 1336 said, a small tremor entering his voice.

"**Of course you don't want to. But you will, everyone does. If you don't you will die, and then the life you have already taken will be for nothing, a waste.**" Jay said harshly, angry that he would dismiss Bantam's sacrifice like that. "**Think of them as dog fights, only there are different types. Some are lethal, some aren't. Regardless, we are used to settle disputes between Lieutenants, or to earn money.**"

Jay grimaced as the pain across her chest returned. Her head was still pounding, as though someone were slowly tightening a vice around her skull. She grasped her forehead, willing it to go away. It didn't work.

"**You're sick.**" The Cheap stated, a hint of concern colouring his voice. Jay gave a very small nod, not really wanting to move her head any more than was necessary. "**How bad is it?**" 1336 persisted.

"**Bad enough. Given that there used to be 10 of us and now there are only 3.**"

"**I don't understand.**"

"**The Lieutenant used to own 10 fully trained Ghosts, plus a couple of extra investments who were still in Training. But since the sickness went round- I heard the Watchers call it Legionnaires disease- there's only me, Crow and Smiler left. All the others got sick and died, one way or another. That's why we've got so many Cheaps being tested at the moment, the Lieutenant needs to replenish his stock.**" Jay replied as though talking about the weather, or what was for dinner.

1336 on the other hand, looked sick to his stomach.

"**If you're going to be sick, make sure you lean away from where you're sat. Sitting in your own vomit makes for an unappetising dinner.**" Jay said bluntly. The Cheap leaned away but thankfully didn't throw up; Jay was having enough difficulty keeping her own nausea at bay without the rancid smell of a Cheap's stomach contents invading her nasal passages.

When he looked back towards her, pure, unadulterated fear had taken over his face- all calm from their earlier conversation had vanished completely.

"**I'm going to die here, aren't I?**" He whispered. Jay almost smiled; it normally took the Cheaps longer to come to terms with that unavoidable fact. Be it one month or 4 years, death would eventually catch up with them. Much like the world they had found themselves in, it was inescapable.

Shifting her body so that she was facing him properly, she looked him in the eye, her gaze steady. "**Yes**"

Thanks for reading, please leave a review, I like to know whether I'm getting this right/ you're enjoying (or not enjoying) the story :D


	5. Chapter 5

A/N Another JJ chapter and I should warn you, this chap contains an attempted rape. Attempted being the operative word here. And it is necessary for two reasons: A) to show you what JJ has become capable of, and B) it ties into the case/plot. I will get back to the case in the next chapter I promise.

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The Dark was suddenly flooded with a bright white light; Jay found herself temporarily blinded, her eyes hurting as they tried to adjust. Both Ghosts jumped as the door banged open, revealing two Watchers, one, the one from the boat and who had put her in here, was armed with a whip, the other a baseball bat. Baseball bat walked over to 1336, Whip strode towards Jay, who instinctively cowered against the wall of the meat locker. It was a futile move; Whip just grabbed her wrists and unshackled her, before yanking her into a standing position and forcing her into another pair of cuffs attached to the ceiling. He then released the cuffs binding her ankles from the ring in the floor so that her toes just brushed the floor. The Cheap was already in the same position, except he didn't know what was coming. This was another reason why she had eaten his food earlier.

"**Its bleep test time Ghosts!**" Whip barked. Jay adjusted her hands so that she was gripping the length of chain attached to the shackles around her wrists. The Cheap still didn't have a clue what was going on; that was good for Jay. She looked him up and down: he was well built but he was carrying a fair amount of excess weight, she doubted he'd hit the gym in a while. That also counted in her favour.

"**First person to miss a bleep or black out gets the Hood for two days. Understood?**"

"**Yes, Sir.**" Jay replied instantly. The Cheap wasn't so on the ball, earning him a quick blow of the baseball bat.

"**Yes, Sir.**" He finally muttered. The Watcher nodded and stepped over to a keypad set into the wall, punching in a 3 digit code. A short, high pitched bleep was heard within the room.

"**Begin!**" He barked. Jay immediately used her arms to haul herself upwards, then lower herself again, performing a pull up. She had 10 seconds to complete the pull up before another bleep would sound. It took the Cheap a moment to cotton on but after a second or two he copied her.

They did well for about 9 bleeps, although 1336 was struggling a bit; beads of sweat were forming on his forehead and his breathing sounded like that of a disgruntled grizzly bear. Jay just focused on the task at hand: outlasting him. Just as she was reaching the top of her 12th pull up she heard the tell-tale whistle of the whip, followed a split second later by a white hot line of pain stretching down her back from her shoulder to the bottom of her ribcage.

She moaned in pain but completed the pull up with 2 seconds to spare. Bleep. She hauled herself up again. This time it was the Cheap's turn, only he received the baseball bat. He cried out as it connected with his shins and dropped back down, failing to complete the pull up. In spite of herself, Jay found herself willing him to move past it and do it again, before the next bleep. By some huge effort on his part, he managed it, returning to the hanging position just as they heard the next bleep.

Bleep, whistle, pain, up, down. Bleep, whistle, pain, up, down. This cycle repeated itself another 6 times, to the point where Jay had bitten through the inside of her lip. As the coppery taste coated her tongue, small trails of blood tickled as they ran down her shoulders before soaking into her top. Finally, to her unspeakable relief, the Cheap stopped, entirely exhausted. The Watcher wielding the whip turned his attention away from her and dealt a couple of lashes to 1336, eliciting an animalistic shriek of pain. After the third lash he was unconscious. He slumped forward, hanging limply from the ceiling.

Bleep. Jay pulled herself up again- not daring to stop until given permission. The Watchers released the Cheap's wrists, allowing him to fall to the floor in a heap. Bleep. Her muscles were burning but she found the strength lift her body again, touching her chin to the cuffs.

"**Stop.**" The Watcher barked. Jay sagged in relief. When the other Watcher released her wrists, she fell to the floor and scrabbled backwards against the wall, breathing heavily. "**Dmitri,**" The Watcher from the boat said, "**Go get 1336 kitted up, I want a few minutes alone with Mutt.**" He flashed her a lustful grin. Jay's blood ran cold.

"**I wouldn't if I were you, Oleg,**" the other Watcher replied, his voice laced with warning, "**She's got a protection order.**"

Jay hastened to pull the cuff up her forearm, exposing the ridged outline of a square that had been burned into the skin of her right wrist. The first Watcher looked at it and smiled slyly.

"**Just a technicality, my friend,**" He sneered, "**You know, I was going suggest you have a go with her once I'd finished but if you're worried about disobeying the Lieutenant…**"

Now it was the second Watcher's turn to grin. "**I won't tell if you won't**" He laughed cruelly before dragging the Cheap's still unconscious form from the room and shutting the door behind him. The Watcher left in the room produced, seemingly from out of nowhere, a cattle prod.

"**I think I might have a little fun first though.**" He smirked at her and flicked it on, turning it up so that she could hear the faint buzz of electricity. Her eyes widened in fear and she pressed herself harder against the wall as though praying it would protect her. It didn't. She closed her eyes as the end of the rod came within inches of her skin.

When the electricity finally ripped through her, every muscle felt like it was on fire. She lost any semblance of control as a piercing scream tore from her lungs. Suddenly it stopped, and she was let a twitching heap on the floor. The Watcher changed the setting.

This time she couldn't have screamed even if she'd tried; her entire body was paralysed, held hostage in a fiery prison of electricity. The pain was unimaginable, it overpowered every thought and feeling. It was utterly relentless. As it ceased the Watcher knelt down beside her and whispered in her ear. "**Go on, beg me to stop.**"

Jay didn't react. Her chest was heaving as she sucked precious air back into her lungs.

"**Too stubborn, eh?**" He sneered. He adjusted the settings of the cattle prod again. "**I guess I'll just have to make you scream some more then.**" With that the fire returned, and so did her screams. It was as though molten lead was coursing through her veins, blinding every sense. All the while he was laughing, dancing the cattle prod over her skin.

She could feel herself teetering on the brink of unconscious; she couldn't afford to black out, who knew what he might do to her then? When he stopped again she couldn't move. "**Beg!**" He yelled, brandishing the rod again

It took all her strength just to make her mouth form words. "**Please, no more.**" She rasped, her voice no more than a crackling whisper. Her breath wheezed in her throat.

"**See, now was that so hard?**" He said sweetly, as though talking to a naughty child who had been forced to apologise. That hungry look had returned to his eyes and Jay's heart filled with dread as she realised she was now powerless to stop his advances. Her limbs lay limply on the ground, her body no more than a rag doll as he lifted her top up and over her head. She felt like she was going to throw up again.

She could feel some control returning to her body as he began unwrapping the bandages that flattened her chest. "**You shouldn't hide such a beautiful body, its rude.**" The Watcher whispered, brushing a hand over the bandages, knowing that with each layer he removed he got closer to his prize. "**Then again, it does leave more to the imagination.**" He taunted, an evil smile contorting his mouth, Jay imagined it was like that of a hyena.

She struggled weakly as he removed the final layer, exposing her breasts, but he just grinned at her in appreciation, using one hand to pin her hands above her head and the other to grope her. "**I'm going to enjoy this**" he hissed in her ear. Jay looked away, trying to push her mind out of her body, to be anywhere but where she was. The Watcher saw this and grabbed her chin, turning her head so that she was forced to look at him.

He undid his zipper and loosened his belt, guiding her hands down to his crotch. "**Don't even think about trying anything.**" But as his other hand snaked its way down below the waistband of her leggings something in her snapped, as though a hot ball of rage had been let loose inside her head.

Her body now back within her control; she kneed him in the groin, hard. As he doubled over, letting out a harsh shout of pain, she tore his belt from the loops of his jeans. Without a second's hesitation, she flipped him onto his back. Wrapping her legs around his chest and arms, immobilising him, she looped the belt around his neck and pulled it tight.

His pathetic struggles were futile as Jay cut off his airway and the blood supply to his brain. His legs twitched and scraped over the floor but he was losing strength fast. Jay was so focused on draining the life from the Watcher that she didn't even register that a Baton had wrenched open the door and was stood in front of her, watching. He made no attempt to stop her however; her naked chest and his exposed boxer shorts made it perfectly clear what had happened.

The Watcher's eyes were bulging and his face was a deep shade of purple. By now his struggles were little more than feeble twitches. Within another minute he was entirely limp and his head lolled to the side. Jay was breathing heavily, the rage and adrenaline were beginning to wear off. Only when she was absolutely certain he was dead did she push the body off of her and look around.

She froze. The Baton was staring at her, his expression unreadable. The reality of what she had done hit her like a freight train. She would almost certainly be executed. The Baton however, looked coldly at the body in front of her, then back at her with a hint of approval in his eyes.

"**Get dressed.**" He said calmly, "**The Lieutenant wants to see you.**"

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As always please review, I love hearing what you guys think. And of course reviews encourage my muse :)


	6. Chapter 6

A/N hello again, sorry for the wait. Like I said, updates will be somewhat sporadic. And I find it really hard to write the case based parts. This is a fairly short chapter to keep you ticking over. Enjoy :)

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_**Boston PD Headquarters, Homicide Dept.**_

"What have we got so far?" Hotch asked, addressing the team. Prentiss and Reid had returned from the ME's office 5 minutes ago. Garcia was linked in via video conference.

"First off, I've identified your potential dead unsub. His name is Tom Hayes and he married Anna Nokes on June 2nd 2009 in Lewiston, Idaho. He was reported missing almost 4 years ago by his wife, his last known whereabouts being a popular sports bar close to his home. Local detectives followed up on a few leads but they were dead ends and the case went cold within 3 weeks. Oh…" Garcia stopped for a moment.

"What is it Baby Girl?" Morgan prompted.

"It's so sad, he left behind a 2 year old son and his wife was 6 months pregnant when he disappeared."

"Has the wife been informed?" Hotch asked.

"Yes, she is flying out to Boston as we speak to formally identify the body."

"Blake, I want you to be there for the identification; find out as much as you can about Tom Hayes, especially his behaviour in the weeks before his disappearance. We need a better idea as to whether he was taken by force or whether he left of his own volition. What else have you got for us Garcia?"

"I cleared up the security footage from the Coastguard as best I could but facial recognition on our three bad guys was a bust. Never fear though, I have decrypted the microchip file that Reid sent me. It should be appearing on your tablets now."

Prentiss brought the file up on her screen and examined it. It was a small file, with only a few short lines of text, all in Russian.

**призрак трейдеры**

**собственностью Бостонского Второй 2**

**черный:32**

**красный:0100111011111100011111**

**вознаграждение за возвращение: 20M**

"It reads: 'Ghost traders. Property of Boston 2. Black, 32. Red, a long line of ones and zeros.' And 'Reward for return, 20M.'" She said. The entire team looked blank, even Reid.

Hotch frowned slightly and looked down, as though trying to remember something. He looked back up. "Isn't Ghost Traders a trading card game? Like Pokemon cards? Jack is always trying to get me to buy them at the gas station."

"10 points to Gryffindor." Garcia said brightly, "I did a quick search on the term 'Ghost Traders' and it did indeed lead me to a trading card website. However, what a children's game could possibly have to do with these murders, I have no idea."

Blake turned to Reid quickly, "Is the fourth line binary code?"

"No," Reid replied almost instantly, "The first eight digits would give a capital 'N' but the remaining digits aren't code. The final part of the fifth line is interesting though. 'Reward for return' would suggest a monetary value, in which case it would make sense that the 'M' be the Roman numeral for 1000, making 20M, $20,000. That's a fairly high 'reward'." He mused. "Then the question becomes, why such a high reward, offered by whom and for what purpose?"

"Looking at the text as a whole, is it possible we're looking at some kind of cult here? Take a step back for a moment. We have a dominant unsub with at least two others who are entirely subservient to him and another who appears to be someone's 'property'. Two, perhaps three, of the unsubs have uniform tattoos, all with concealed meanings." Rossi said, buoyed slightly by the small consensus of nods from around the table.

Prentiss stirred. "I did notice what could have been ritualistic scars on Mr Hayes' body. There were 32 inch-long cuts on the inside of his left forearm, likely to have been self-inflicted. What was strange about them though was that they weren't from a single event. Reid, while you were on the phone with Garcia I was able to get a closer look at them. Whilst the cuts themselves looked fairly recent, there were tiny silver lines overlapping them. I think Mr Hayes had cut himself, and then reopened the wounds or recut himself again over the old ones repeatedly, over a long period of time. Of course Dr Betker may have a better explanation, but we'll know more when the full autopsy reports come through."

"Is it possible Tom Hayes was depressed and had resorted to self-mutilation?" asked Blake.

"Yes it's possible, but I'm not entirely convinced. I have little experience with self-inflicted wounds but the spacing between the cuts was almost perfect. It was uncanny how precisely they were laid out."

"Did you say 32 cuts?" Reid piped up, his mind awhirr.

"Yes, why?"

"That's one of the numbers on the encrypted file. 'Black: 32'." Reid frowned. "It seems too neat to be a coincidence."

Morgan sighed in frustration. "The deeper we delve into this case, the more questions we have. Any possible answers we do find just lead to more questions."

"Alright, let's take this back to basics." Said Hotch, keen to keep his team on track. This time of year was difficult for all of them but they couldn't afford to be distracted right now. "All the bodies, aside from the Coastguard officers, were found naked and tied together, with nothing to identify them by- not counting the ring found on Tom Hayes."

"That could either be an effort to humiliate the victims or a forensic counter measure." Blake replied.

"Or both" Prentiss added.

"Has the ME determined whether any were subject to sexual assault?" Rossi directed his question towards Reid.

"None of the male victims were but Dr Betker was able to confirm that our female victim had been raped about 18 hours prior to her death. Despite the saltwater environment in which the bodies were dumped, he was able to recover traces of semen. These are being processed in the lab at the moment. Trace DNA was also found under the victims fingernails, again it's being processed as we speak."

"It's unusual to see so many different MOs, even with a team of unsubs. Typically at least one will try to imitate the dominant unsub- behaviour that the dominant would encourage. We don't see this here." Said Morgan. "Two victims were strangled. Strangulation would suggest a personal nature to these crimes, and without doubt a very confident unsub. That's probably our dominant. Relatively speaking it takes a great deal of time and strength to strangle someone to death."

"If I had to guess, I'd say the fatal laceration to the throat was made by our female unsub. From what the ME has put in his preliminary report, this method was performed by someone with a great deal of skill, without requiring too much physical strength. We know the female is subservient by the way she behaves around the dominant." Blake said, "Morgan can you come over here please?"

Morgan nodded in agreement and stepped over to her. "Her MO could speak to a reluctance to kill." She looked around at the team, who hadn't quite twigged. She turned Morgan around so he had his back to her, then stepped behind him and mimicked the movement of slitting his throat. "The victim would have bled out in under a minute, it was a clean and efficient kill. Most importantly, to make a cut like that, the unsub would have to have been stood behind the victim and therefore would have been unable to see his face."

Emily's face brightened in understanding. "It's much easier to kill someone if you don't have to look at them as you do it. It would certainly provide a way for the unsub to distance themselves from their victim without disobeying the dominant."

"Exactly."

"Now we're getting somewhere."

"But we still don't know how they select their victims." Hotch murmured. "Garcia, were you able to match the victims' fingerprints with any database?"

"Well Tom Hayes didn't have any prints. Looking at the autopsy report they had been removed with acid. I'm still waiting for my babies to finish their work on the other four." Garcia stopped and the team heard a faint beeping in the background. "Correction… 3 have come back with no matches but your female victim is Celia Nelson from Miami, Florida, aged 22. Back in 2008 she was convicted of possession of a Class A drug, however as she was only 16 at the time of her arrest she served only 18 months in juvenile detention facility. For the moment that's all I've got but I'm still digging."

"That's great Garcia, I want to know everything there is about Celia Nelson. If we can find out how they got to her, we may be able to link them to the other victims as well."

"On it boss." Garcia terminated the video conference link.

The team looked up as one of the local detectives knocked on the door. "Agent Hotchner, I've got a Dr Lynn on the line for you."

"Thank you, Detective, I'll be through in a minute." The detective nodded and shut the door. "Morgan, I want you to go with Blake to interview Miss Nokes. We need to know how Tom Hayes got involved with our unsubs."

Morgan nodded as Hotch left to follow the detective. Walking over to the man's desk, he picked up the phone.

"This is SSA Aaron Hotchner with the FBI."

"Agent Hotchner? My name is Dr Elaine Lynn. I'm a colleague of Dr Betker. I work at the Roundstone Psychiatric Facility. I have someone here who I think you should meet."

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I'm paranoid about the case parts so please let me know what you think. Am I getting this right for you?


	7. Chapter 7

A/N faster update because in a twisted way this was fun to write. I wanted to show you the true nature of the Ghost Traders world. This chapter continues on from where chapter 5 left off- I'm sorry if this pace is too slow for you(?) but the details are important.

Just a quick glossary for you (please read it, it explains a few details that are hard to put into the dialogue of the story):

Red fight=non-fatal fight, Black fight=fatal fight,

House stock= Ghosts owned long term by a Lieutenant, they are less likely to be sold on as they have proven themselves to be good investments, Ghosts of the house stock may be bought straight from Poachers/other Lieutenants or transferred from trading stock. Crow, Jay and Smiler are the Boston Second's house stock (what remains of it.)

Trading stock= Ghosts bought from Poachers, typically Cheaps, who are trained up and refined by Lieutenants to be sold on to other Lieutenants for profit. They are held separately from the house stock and are largely entered into Red fights so that they can build up their form. A Lieutenant's trading stock is typically larger than his house stock, consisting of about 25 Ghosts (vs 10 in the house stock).

Form (mentioned in this chapter but should help explain the microchip data from the previous chapter): like in horse racing, shows the long term performance of a Ghost in Red fights, 1= a win, 0= a loss. Form is not relevant to a Ghost's Black fight history (where a loss results in death.)

I think that's all I need to include for this chapter but if I think of anything else then I'll put it in the next. Thanks for bearing with me, enjoy :D

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"**Get dressed.**" The Baton said calmly, "**The Lieutenant wants to see you.**" He stepped over and picked the bandages up off of the floor before handing them to her. She hastily pulled her top down over her head to cover herself. The Baton crouched down beside her and unshackled her, allowing her to wrap the cloth around her torso again. She struggled with the material; her arms were shaking slightly and her torn shoulders screamed at her when she moved her arms behind her back.

This did not go unnoticed by the Baton. He stopped her and took the bandages in his hands. Jay couldn't help but flinch as his fingers brushed her skin but she allowed him to swiftly bind her chest. When he was done she readjusted her top and stood up.

"**Come on.**" He said, gesturing towards the open door for her to walk ahead of him. She obeyed. As they were leaving the Dark, the second Watcher from earlier returned with the Cheap. His hands were tightly cuffed behind his back. On his head he had a thick black hood, zip tied around his neck so that it could not be removed. Beneath the hood, Jay could see the muffled outline of a pair of headphones. She knew from experience that they had been duct-taped over his ears. They had a wireless receiver in them so that what the Cheap heard through them could be changed and controlled by the Watchers. Jay knew she would never look at headphones in the same way again.

"**Dispose of the body.**" The Baton barked at the Watcher. He suspected he had been involved somehow. His eyes rested on the Cheap for the briefest of seconds before he pushed Jay forward.

He leaned forward to speak to her. "**I have to tell the Lieutenant about the Watcher back in the Dark, but I think it unlikely that you will be punished. In attempting to violate your protection order, he disobeyed a direct order from the Lieutenant. He would have been killed anyway. I would not be surprised if the Lieutenant were to approve of your lack of hesitation.**"

His words went a long way to dissipate the cold ball of fear that had gathered in Jay's stomach.

Several dimly lit corridors and doors later they arrived at the Lieutenant's office. She was nervous, but she trusted the Lieutenant. Before the Baton opened the door, he murmured something in her ear. "**Do not react.**" With that he opened the door and shoved her into the room. She stumbled slightly, but didn't fall. She frowned in confusion. It was just the Lieutenant, sat as usual behind his desk.

Then she smelt it.

It was a scent that froze her blood in her veins. Bourbon, mixed with a faint hint of antiseptic and cigar smoke. Her mind shrieked at her to escape, to fight, to hide. Anything but to be anywhere near the man belonging to that smell.

Without a massive effort of will she overrode her instincts and remained stock still. _Calm down_ she told herself. _You belong to the Lieutenant. Washington can't hurt you anymore. The Lieutenant will protect you. _She repeated it over and over to herself in her head like a mantra, clinging to it as though it were a shield.

"**1058 as requested, Sir**" the Baton said, walking over to the Lieutenant. Bringing a hand up to his mouth, he said something quietly to the Lieutenant. Even if Jay had been concentrating, she wouldn't have been able to hear what he was saying. She was listening intently to the rest of the room; behind her, she could hear quiet breathing. She knew it was Him.

"**Thank you, Baton, dismissed.**" The Lieutenant nodded and the Baton left the room, shutting the door behind him. The Lieutenant got up from his chair and walked round towards Jay. "**As you can see, Mikhail, she is as prime a specimen as ever. As I'm sure you can imagine, I am reluctant to part with her.**"

"**Nikolai, this matter is non-negotiable. You require more sophisticated weapons and ammunition to resist a takeover by the Boston First. You know he is planning it, he has already choked your supply of prescription drugs and counterfeit money. That was certainly a smart move on his part.**" Washington chuckled quietly.

"**Word on the grapevine is that, thanks to your lack of antibiotics and an unfortunate bout of Legionnaires, your house stock has been all but wiped out. From what I hear your trading stock took a hit but will recover given time. You are not in a good position. It is simply a matter of time before he completely destroys you. I am able to provide what you need, but at a price. My price is Jennifer.**" Jay's former Lieutenant all but purred her name. His voice sent flashes of sheer terror down her spine. "**I would, however, like to inspect the product before I commit to such an arrangement.**"

"**Of course, I would expect no less with a purchase of this importance.** **Where would you like to start? Physical inspection or form?**"

"**Physical**" He smiled and walked around so that he was facing her. Beneath his smile was a barely masked sadistic lust. He grasped her upper arm.

"**Tense**" the Lieutenant instructed. Jay obeyed. The Washington First inspected the muscles on show, as though assessing a cut of meat at the butcher's. They were well defined after years of training but not large or particularly masculine. Apparently satisfied, he lifted her arm out in front of her and examined the inside of her forearm. Marring the skin were 22 inch long cuts, spaced evenly apart, although close together.

Washington's eyebrows rose in surprise. "**Only 22 kills, Nikolai? That makes 4 kills since you bought her from me. You have not been putting her to good use.**"

"**I prefer Red fights, they may not be so lucrative in the short term but they do ensure a good return on my investment. If it is a Ghost for Black fights you require, I have another. 1222 is less than a year old but he is talented. You would like him; he enjoys it. My people call him Smiler.**" Boston looked almost hopeful that Washington might take him up on his offer.

Washington waved his hand dismissively. He was examining her hand, specifically her left index finger- or lack thereof. Where once was a fully formed finger, there was now only a stub. It stopped just below where the first joint would have been. "**She has learned to fight like this?**"

"**Very successfully. Her form has continued to improve since she came to me.**" Boston replied.

"**I pick my ghosts carefully**" Washington said, clearly pleased with himself. "**I must confess, Nikolai, I thought you were a fool to buy her from me. However, I am glad that you did. I have missed having an ex-Fed in my arsenal. I find that Ghosts with a law enforcement background are far more entertaining to keep. Don't you?**"

"**They have a certain charm, I grant you.**"

"**I think Jennifer will be the start of my new collection. Although I should like to build up my stock from a mixture agencies. There is talent in the FBI but I always welcome variety. Speaking of the FBI, I assume you still possess her certificate of authentication?**"

"**Of course Mikhail, I might be in a difficult position at the moment but I'm no fool.**" Boston replied. He walked over to the safe and opened it, swiftly turning in the combination with practiced ease. From within the safe he withdrew an object just larger than the palm of his hand and placed it on his desk.

It was Jay's old FBI badge and credentials. She glanced at them impassively. _Jennifer Jareau is dead._ She did not need to remind herself.

"**I think it highly unlikely that I will resell her but it makes good sense to maintain the value of my possessions.**" Washington turned to examine the badge for a moment. A confident, blue eyed woman with long blond hair smiled up at him. He almost laughed. "**Have you had her valued recently?**"

"**Yes, about 3 weeks ago.**"

Jay remembered it well; it had been a process much like the one she was currently undergoing but it had been far more extensive and intense. The first time she had been subjected to such an evaluation she had been in chains- she had been so repulsed by it that she had fought tooth and nail against the 'expert' attempting to determine her value. She had soon learned her lesson, and learned her place.

"**What was the outcome?**"

"**$165,000**" the Lieutenant replied, a small hint of pride tingeing his voice. Washington let out a low whistle of appreciation.

"**Over 3 times what I originally paid for her. Given the typical premium attached to former law enforcement that's very impressive. Congratulations.**"

"**She took a fair amount of work but I'm happy with the end product.**"

"**Rightly so.**" Washington let go of Jay's arm and tapped her jaw. She opened her mouth, allowing him to examine her teeth using the small torch which Boston passed to him. "**Good**" He murmured to himself. He tapped her jaw again. She closed her mouth. He checked her eyes quickly, lifting her eyelids slightly to inspect the whites of her eyes, before moving on to her right arm. This was the bit that most worried her.

As he looked at the inside of her forearm, he frowned in disapproval. It was not the frown that worried her though, more the anger that flashed through his eyes. Tattooed into the skin were three bluejays, each one in a different stage of flight- as though they were the same bird flying along her arm.

"**These will have to go. I do not condone the unnecessary decoration of my Ghosts.**"

Jay expected him to say more, but the number burned into the crook of her elbow made him smile slyly. 41326. A number, no, a kill, he would never allow her to forget. A crime that she worked every day to atone for, a lesson learned that she now lived by. Her deepest regret.

Washington had moved on to inspect her legs, although thankfully this was only a visual inspection. The physical inspection was pretty much over. All that remained was to go over her form, finalise the contract and transfer the Poacher's commission documents.

As Boston brought up her file on his tablet, Washington moved behind her to quickly examine her back and shoulders. The lash marks had torn a fair amount of the flesh but only a few would require stitches. The damage was largely superficial, they would heal quickly. He was standing close, too close. Jay could hear him breathe deeply, taking in her scent. He sighed appreciatively. She felt sick to her stomach. He used to do that when… when he would… She couldn't bear to finish the thought but she couldn't seem to push it aside either. She could feel panic building up inside her, the urge to flee was growing almost intolerable. She just wanted to go and find Crow and hide from the world.

Boston's voice pulled her back into the room. "**She and Crow have a Black fight this time next week, against two of the Boston First's for control of the cocaine trade in 12 blocks of the south district but that shouldn't be a problem. 1058 and 1042 are undefeated as a team, even in Red fights.**"

"**I will be back in Boston in 10 days. So long as she is in a suitable condition for me to transport to Washington by then, the resources we have agreed on will be in your warehouses within the month. Do we have an agreement?**"

"**We do.**"

The pair of Lieutenants shook hands, sealing the deal.

"**I will take her authentication, the contract and Poacher's documents in the meantime and my people can get them processed. That way the official purchase next week can run as smoothly as possible.**" Washington said, picking up the required papers from the desk, along with Jennifer Jareau's FBI credentials, and put them in his briefcase. He turned to leave.

"**Always good doing business with you, Nikolai.**"

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Not sure when the next update will be, its getting into exam season so I've got less time to write. Stick with me though :)


	8. Chapter 8

A/N back again. So this chapter turned out to be waaaaay longer than I was expecting so I'm sorry if I bore anyone. Bear with me though :) I just want to say thanks to everyone who has reviewed/followed/favourited this story, it means the world to me. Thanks especially to my repeat reviewers: Leslet, Casie01 and HD, you guys are great!

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"Dr Lynn? I'm SSA Hotchner, this is my colleague SSA Prentiss." Hotch and Prentiss were stood in the reception of the Roundstone Psychiatric Facility. Dr Lynn hadn't said much on the phone; just that she had a patient in her care who may be relevant to their case. She was an average height, thirty-something Chinese woman. She smiled at each of the agents.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, agents." Dr Lynn replied, shaking their hands in turn. "I'm sorry I couldn't say more on the phone. Please, follow me." She led them out of the reception and into an adjoining corridor. The facility had a sterile feeling to it, but it was not as overwhelming as in a hospital. The walls were a very light blue instead of stark white.

"Let me explain, I am a friend of Dr Betker's. We meet for lunch every week but thanks to the motherload of autopsies currently on his plate I said I'd pay him a visit in the morgue rather than waste time going out to eat."

Emily raised her eyebrows slightly; whilst she had no problem with death or corpses, somehow an amicable lunch in a morgue surrounded by dead people seemed… a tad morbid to say the least. Dr Lynn continued "To cut a long story short, whilst there I saw the tattoos on one of your victims and recognised them- one of my patients here has some that are almost identical. I knew I had to call you."

"Thank you for doing so, Dr Lynn. I should tell you though, the victim whose tattoos you recognised may well have been involved in the other murders. His tattoos are the same as those seen on the other unsubs. His physical condition, namely his scars, suggest he had a long history of violence." Hotch replied, watching her reaction closely. She did not show any sign of surprise.

"You don't seem surprised?" asked Prentiss.

"No, my patient also has a significant level of scarring. He has been in the care of this facility since about two weeks after his arrest."

"His arrest?" Hotch's voice betrayed the smallest hint of shock.

"He was found by state troopers wandering along the side of the I-295. The troopers didn't know what to think; he was in the middle of nowhere in nothing but a T-shirt and shorts, no shoes, no ID. When the officers attempted to ask him what he was doing, he tried to stab one of them. Thankfully the officer in question had his stab vest on. He came off with a couple of bruised ribs but nothing worse."

"Do you know what he was doing? Or why he was even out there?"

"I'm afraid not. We don't even know his name, or even if he speaks English. We have taken to calling him John, for convenience's sake. He hasn't spoken a word since he got here. He is of Chinese origin, although when I speak to him in Mandarin, he understands but refuses to respond. It's odd though, sometimes it's as though he wants to speak but stops himself"

"How do you know he understands you?" asked Prentiss.

"His body language. He also does things I tell him if I phrase them as an order. We have to keep him sedated most of the time as he often behaves aggressively towards staff and patients. What makes it so difficult is that his aggression is not blind violence; he knows how to fight and puts that ability to good use. After the wrist incident we were left with little choice."

"The 'wrist incident'?" queried Hotch.

"One of our patients with learning difficulties poked him. John broke his wrist."

Both Hotch and Emily raised their eyebrows.

"This sort of behaviour has been observed in prisoners of war and child soldiers, as well as in some victims of long term abuse." The doctor continued, "His injuries would seem to support a background of that sort. Here we are." She said, gesturing to the door in front of them.

Hotch peered through the scratched plastic window of the room.

The walls inside were bare, painted an off-white colour. On the opposite side of the room there was a window, also made of plastic. On the right hand side of the room was a wardrobe and a desk, with a chair at it. There was a bed in the corner but it did not look like it had been slept in.

Sat on the bed was a short, averagely built Chinese man, dressed in a white t-shirt and shorts. He had close cropped hair and a ridged scar across his collar bone. In his hand was clenched a red piece of cotton material, about the size of a dish cloth. He was staring at the wall opposite him, his back resting on the wall behind him with his knees drawn up almost to his chest.

"He is sedated at the moment?" Hotch asked.

"Yes, but his latest dose was several hours ago, he is due for another in about an hour. He should be fairly lucid at the moment, although I can't imagine it will make much difference. If you don't mind I'd like to go over his tattoos with a black light. I've borrowed one from Dr Betker, he would be interested to know if I find anything."

"By all means" Hotch replied, "After you." He motioned to the door. Dr Lynn smiled and opened it.

"_Hello, John. It's me, Elaine, remember? I've got some people here who want to meet you. Is that okay?_" Dr Lynn said in Mandarin. The man didn't make any kind of response. "_This is Aaron._" She pointed to Hotch, "_And this is Emily._" This time the man's eyes flickered in their direction, resting on Hotch and then Prentiss for the briefest of seconds.

Although his glance was fleeting, it was calculating. It took in their stance, their demeanour, their physicality. It assessed their weaknesses. The woman favoured her right side, the man's hearing wasn't so good in his left ear. Both had guns on their right hip. They held authority, the man more than the woman. Both believed their emotions were unreadable. They were wrong. Both were stressed and both were grieving. The man held his grief in his frown, the woman in the tightness in the muscles around her lips.

Elaine continued on "_John, if it's alright by you, I'd like to take a look at your tattoos. I have a special torch here_" She held up the black light for the man to see. He didn't acknowledge it. "_that will show up any UV ink._"

When, again, John made no attempt to agree or decline, she flicked the black light on and moved it towards his neck. In an instant, his hand shot upwards and grabbed her wrist. His grip was like a vice, unyielding and cold. Both Hotch's and Prentiss's hands edged towards their guns.

"_John. Let go._" Dr Lynn said calmly, but sternly.

Both of the profilers could see the conflict in his eyes. Lying in them was a mixture of guilt, fear and determination. The doctor inhaled sharply as the man suddenly tightened his grip. However, as the discomfort began to show on her face, he released her wrist and let his hand fall limply into his lap.

"_Thank you._" She said as she shone the torch over the two black squares on his neck. John remained stock still as she did so. Glowing back at them were the same 4 digit codes as those on Tom Hayes.

**B3MD B2MA **

Emily quickly wrote them down. Dr Lynn gently picked up his hand so that she could turn his forearm upwards. Hotch frowned in confusion, whilst this man had the usual coded tattoo- **NY.950.H.10C- **and the same inch long scars- 34 of them- there was a tattoo the profilers had not expected. It was a simple rectangle of red, about 2 inches by 1 and a half. Shining back at them were a few words of script, written in Russian.

"Emily, would you mind translating for us?" Hotch asked, turning to Prentiss, who nodded and moved to stand by Dr Lynn so that she could read it better.

"It says: "Released from Service by the Boston Second."

Hotch passed her his phone so that she could take a photo of the tattoo. Emily looked deep in thought but took the photo. After a couple of moments silence she looked back at the doctor and Hotch. "Can you give us a minute alone?" She asked.

Dr Lynn looked doubtful; her patient was somewhat unpredictable. Hotch on the other hand, nodded. "If you're okay with that Dr Lynn, we'll stay just outside the door in case anything happens."

Dr Lynn took a moment before nodded, she still looked slightly worried. Emily smiled at her reassuringly.

Once they had shut the door behind them, with Hotch lingering by the window, Prentiss turned to the man. "**What is your name?**"

The Ghost looked up in shock. How did they find him? Of course they found him, they had Sweepers everywhere. But why did they find him? The Lieutenant released him. Suddenly afraid, he replied automatically, "**950, Sir.**" He held onto the red cloth a little tighter, his knuckles white.

Emily looked stunned. "**I'm sorry?**"

"**My name is 950, Sir**"

She regained her composure. "**Do you have any other names?**"

"**The Watcher's call me Cook, Sir**"

"**Okay then, Cook, you don't have to call me 'Sir'. My name is Emily.**"

"**Emily.**" The Ghost said her name slowly. It was not a Ghost name. It was an Outside name. In that case, maybe she wasn't a Sweeper. "**So you haven't come to take me back?**" He asked quietly.

"**No, I just want to ask you a few questions.**" Prentiss replied, having no idea what a Watcher was, or where he thought he might be taken back to. On hearing her answer, she saw in his eyes a confusing mix of relief and disappointment. "**Do you want to go back?**"

"**I… I don't know…**" Cook could feel the despair building up inside him again. He couldn't go back to the Lieutenant, not when he had worked so hard for his freedom. And yet, now that he was Outside, he was lost. He had no place in the world anymore, no home to go back to. He rubbed the piece of cloth in his hand. _You are free. That is all that matters. Your debt is paid. _He thought to himself. His mantra helped to calm him somewhat.

"**Why do you not speak in Mandarin? It's clear you understand it.**"

"**It is forbidden. We must speak Russian or not at all, so that we may learn our place.**"

"**Who forbade it?**"

"**The Lieutenants. The Lieutenants' word is law.**"

"**Who are the Lieutenants?**" Prentiss asked, her confusion increasing by the minute.

"**My masters. A Ghost must obey their Lieutenant.**"

"**Why?**"

The Ghost looked at her almost angrily, how could she not understand? It was a simple enough idea. "**Because we belong to them. They take care of us, and in return, we obey them.**"

Emily looked shocked, but did not miss the anger that showed on his face so decided not to press the matter. "**Where are you from?**" She asked gently.

"**The Boston Second, before that, the Baltimore Third.**"

"**And before that?**" she prompted.

The man frowned, then gave a lopsided shrug. He didn't remember all that well. Sometimes his memories were stronger but they still felt fuzzy, only half-remembered. The sort of memories you wake up with from a dream. Elusive and flickering and difficult to catch.

When Cook failed to answer, she changed her question. "**Why did you move from the Baltimore Third to the Boston Second.**" She was surprised by his reaction: he smiled in pride.

"**The Baltimore Third bet a Ghost on a Red fight and lost. The Boston Second could pick one of the Baltimore Third's Ghosts as his winnings. He picked me.**"

"**What do you mean?**" Emily asked, although she had a sneaky feeling that she would not like his answer.

"**At a Red fight, 3 years ago, my old Lieutenant, the man who owned me before the Boston Second, the Baltimore Third, placed a bet with the Boston Second that whoever's Ghost won the fight could take home a Ghost from the other's house stock as their prize. Baltimore's Ghost lost, and of all the Ghost's in his house stock, Boston chose me as his prize.**" Cook beamed in pride.

Emily looked appalled. If their unsubs were like this man, and to be honest the evidence was looking pretty undeniable, then they weren't looking at a trio of serial killers. They had stumbled upon some twisted form of human trafficking.

"**Do the Lieutenants force you to fight?**" she whispered, sickened.

"**We do what the Lieutenants ask of us. Disobedience is punishable by death. But we must survive. We have debts to pay.**"

Emily wanted to ask more questions, but Hotch knocked on the window and beckoned to her.

"**I have to go now**" She said, "**But may we talk again soon?**"

Cook looked confused; why was she asking permission? Outsiders were free to do what they wanted. He nodded. Emily smiled and got up to leave.

"What's the problem?" She said to Hotch as she shut the door behind her. Her hands were shaking ever-so-slightly; all that she had just learned sat like bile in her throat.

"We need to head back to the precinct. Coastguard just pulled another body out of the harbour."

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Hope you liked this chapter, even if it was long. I've got a big chapter coming up in probably 2/3 chaps (you probably know what will be in it...) so please review- they make me write faster and keep me motivated :D


	9. Chapter 9

A/N I promise your wait for the 'reveal' is almost over! Keep hanging on in there ;)

This chapter continues on from chapter 7, so takes place the night before Prentiss meets with Cook.

Special thanks to Casie01, HD, rmpcmfan and Jareau37. Also to my guest reviewer, you have no idea how much it means to me to hear you say that- the details are really important to me.

A quick glossary type note- a 'candle' is the Ghosts' version of a cocktail. As always, enjoy and please remember to review.

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"**Always good doing business with you Nikolai**"

Washington smiled briefly and left, leaving Jay alone with the Lieutenant.

"**Mutt, I'm so sorry.**" He murmured. Jay tried to blink back tears; when he had saved her life almost half a year ago, he had sworn to her that Washington would never touch her again. And now he was selling her back to him. "**If there were any other way, you know I would do it. But I must do what is necessary to protect our home.**"

Jay just nodded.

"**You will fight against the First next week and then you will return to Washington. The fight could not be more important, I am relying on you. Can you do this for me? To protect your home and your Lieutenant?**"

She nodded again. The Boston Second had been kind to her, and she had a debt to pay. She would be fighting alongside Crow next week; she could not let him down.

"**Curfew is not for another two hours. There may be some food left over from earlier. Go, I will send Crow your way.**" He said, dismissing her. Jay bowed and left.

The moment the door shut, she headed straight down to the third basement level. The Ghost complex was housed beneath a shipping warehouse. Three floors deep, it was a maze of corridors and rooms that extended far beyond the perimeter of the building on the surface. The first level was a storage level, used as an extension to the warehouse, mostly for appearance's sake. On the second were the Ghosts' quarters and training areas.

The third level was not used much; a small area made up a shower room where they were able to wash once a week. Well, shower room wasn't all that accurate. It was just a concrete walled room with a hose and a tap so that the Watchers could hose the Ghosts down with cold water.

Once on the third level, there were numerous twists and turns through the corridors until she reached a long forgotten room in the farthest corner of the complex. It was full of old crates, all of them empty, aside from which held a vast array of knives, hammers and other weapons. Jay had added only a few to the collection since her arrival at the Boston Second, the same went for Crow, and Cook before him and Fletch before him.

The walls of the room were cinderblock, apart from the wall to the right of the door, opposite the weapons crate, which was boarded up with wood. The wood was covered in small dents and nicks. One area of it was worn through almost to the rock beneath where someone had hacked at it for hours out of anger and frustration.

Aside from her, only Crow knew about this part of the complex. Well, no doubt the Lieutenant knew but he had yet to forbid her from going there or tell the Watchers about it.

Almost without thinking, she picked up a knife from the crate and weighed it in her hand, testing its balance. Faster than the eye could follow, she threw it at the wall. The knife's tip buried itself in the wood with a satisfying thud.

She changed hands, and picked another up with her left. At first she had hated looking at her maimed finger, it felt like a weakness. But it wasn't. It just showed she had the strength and patience to adapt and move forward. Whilst she may no longer be able to use a pinch grip, it hadn't taken long to master the hammer grip, it was a point of pride for her.

She threw again, and again the thud of the tip hitting its mark helped to calm her. But it wasn't enough. She threw knife after knife, pouring all of her emotions into the destructive action.

Anger, frustration, hurt, fear, pain. Everything buried itself in the wood. Faster and faster she threw them at the wall, until her arms were burning and her chest was heaving. Each knife found its mark. Thud, thud, thud. The movement and the sound were soothing, but not enough to comfort her. Countless times Crow had woken her from her nightmares of Washington, had stroked her hand as she wept in the dark. And now she was going back.

She screamed in despair as the tears she worked so hard to keep back began to fall.

"**Jay?**"

She whirled around, prepared to defend herself. It was okay, it was just Crow. He was carrying two plates of food but set them down on top of a crate. His eyes were soft as he looked at her. Only when he stepped towards her and pulled her into a tight embrace did she allow herself to break down completely.

"**Jay, I'm so sorry. Shhh shh, it's going to be okay.**" He whispered, rocking her gently as she cried.

Jay just sobbed harder, burying her face in his shoulder. They both sank to the floor, Crow cradling her in his arms. After that he just allowed her to cry it out; he had been there before, he knew there was nothing he could say that would ease her pain.

After what seemed like an eternity, her breathing settled and her sobs turned to the occasional sniff. Her eyes were glassy and resigned. Easing her off of his lap, he examined her back. It was darkened with bruises and blood. Some of the deeper wounds had reopened and were oozing.

"**Let's get you cleaned up. It may be wash day tomorrow but there's only so much blood you can get out of one shirt.**"

Jay gave a small smile, but her eyes were blank. He let her rest against one of the crates and walked to the opposite wall, where he used one of his knives to ease a cinder block out of place. Once he had removed a second one, from within the hollow space behind he brought out two boxes. He carried them both back over to Jay.

He helped her as she gingerly removed her top, then lay down on her front. She stiffened as he went to remove the bandages around her chest but relaxed when he spoke. "**Easy, it's just me**" he said. He decided to cut through them rather than unwind them, she needed fresh ones anyway. When her back was bare he looked at it appraisingly. It was covered in lash marks, but luckily for Jay only three required stitches.

"**Do you want any painkillers?**" He asked quietly, opening one of the boxes. He took out a suture kit and a large bottle of rubbing alcohol.

"**No, we're running out. Save them for when we really need them, we don't know when the Lieutenant will be able to get more.**" She murmured as Crow turned away to wash his hands with some of the alcohol. He then poured some onto an old rag.

It stung like hell when he began to clean out the wounds but Jay didn't mind; this was a good kind of pain.

"**Do you want to talk about it?**" he asked softly.

It was several minutes before Jay replied. "**You know what he did to me. The things he forced me to do. What he will do when I go back.**" A small tear ran down her cheek. "**I can't go back.**" She whispered. She winced as Crow sewed her skin back together.

There was nothing to be said really. Washington had bought her fair and square, she had no choice; within a week she would belong to him again. Nothing Crow did or said could change that. He felt powerless. They were silent for a long while.

"**Kill me.**" She said suddenly.

"**What?**" Crow asked suddenly, certain he had misheard her.

"**Kill me.**" Jay said again.

"**You don't mean that. We must survive, we owe it to them, remember?**" He had told himself this so many times, driving it into his skull, so that he would never forget the price he had paid for his life.

"**Survive.**" Jay muttered bitterly. Crow had finished suturing now so she struggled to sit upright. "**We tell ourselves we must survive but what for? The dead are gone. They are free. And where are we? Fighting to survive in the hopes that one day we may be released. You have 7 months left. Tell me, what will you do if the Lieutenant frees you?**" She was shouting now but she didn't care. "**When you're thrown out into the world trying to find a way to live with what you've done."**

Crow sat in silence, trying to keep his frustration at bay. But when Jay shouted again he snapped.

"**I don't know! We have nothing left out there! Everything was taken from us. We're murderers Jay! Do we even deserve to be released after everything we've done?**" He screamed in anger and threw his knife at the wall with such force it almost buried the entire blade in the wood. He sank to the floor in despair.

"**I will not spit on the graves of those I've killed by taking my own life. Nor will I risk your life by throwing the fight next week.**" Jay murmured. "**But I'm begging you, should the situation arise where one of the First's Ghosts makes it past my defence…**" She trailed off and looked at the floor in shame. "**Do not try to interfere. Just, please, let it happen.**"

It took Crow a long time to reply. "**Okay. But only if you do the same for me. You've kept me going here the last six months Jay, I'm not sure I can keep it up without you.**"

Jay nodded in agreement. Suddenly embarrassed by their respective displays of emotion, they laughed wryly. "**Dinner and a drink to seal the deal?**" Crow said lightly.

"**Definitely. I need a candle.**" Jay got up to grab the two plates of food whilst Crow got to work getting their drinks. Setting them back down on the floor, she automatically went to put one of her slices of spam on Crow's place but he stopped her.

"**Keep it, you need it more than I do right now.**" He said, gesturing to her back. He sighed as she put the spam on his plate anyway. Damn, she could be stubborn sometimes. Shaking his head, he opened the second box and removed its contents: A bottle of vodka, a jar of instant coffee, a small bottle of tabasco sauce and two shot glasses. "**Two candles coming right up.**" He laughed, twirling the bottle of vodka in his hand.

Jay laughed and put half a teaspoon of coffee in each glass, followed by the same amount of tabasco. She put them down so that Crow could fill them almost to the top. They each took one and placed their palm over the lip of the glass so they could shake them.

Crow raised his glass and Jay mimicked his movement. "**To live is to choose.**" He said, clinking his against hers and downing the contents.

Jay gave a small smile. "**To live is to choose.**"

* * *

A/N We're getting close now, I promise, although this story is a very long way from finished. My next update will take more time because I've got a lot going on in the next few days, however, with enough views I may be convinced to forgo some sleep and write instead ;)


	10. Chapter 10

A/N wow, I was blown away by the response to my last chapter, thank you all so much (especially to Jareau37, .boerner.1980, rmpcmfan, Leslet, Casie01 and my guest reviewer) so as promised, I have gone without sleep to update you in a timely fashion. I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it :D

* * *

"Morgan, before we get started with our latest body, did you learn anything from interviewing Tom Hayes' wife?" Hotch said, striding into their makeshift conference room.

"Not a great deal, no. Apparently he was a stand-up family guy in a happy marriage. The only real bump in the road was a gambling problem- he had a habit of betting more than he could pay. They had men banging on their door at night demanding money, Miss Nokes did say that the night time visits stopped after Mr Hayes' disappearance. Unfortunately that still doesn't tell us whether he left by choice or by force."

"Have we got an ID on the body the Coastguard dredged out of the harbour?" Hotch directed his question towards Garcia.

"Solving two mysteries with one body, no wait, make that three mysteries" replied Garcia from the laptop screen, "Our latest victim-cum-unsub-cum-serial rapist was one Oleg Svinsky. Thanks to a crystal clear headshot of our deceased creepo, I got a hit on facial rec. Results on the DNA taken from the post-mortem SAE kit done on the female victim came back from the lab- it was a match to Mr Svinsky."

"Garcia, you said serial rapist?" Blake queried.

"Ah yes, tragic but true my friends. The DNA from the SAE kit also matched DNA filed as evidence in a double rape case from 1 year ago."

"How was he walking around a free man, did they never identify him?" said Rossi in disbelief.

"Here's where it gets weird, he was convicted but never served time. He was sentenced to 15 years in prison but there are no records of an Oleg Svinsky in any correctional facilities on the East Coast. I can expand my search but given that he is dead on a slab in the morgue instead of chilling in a cell in MCI I'd say he never went to prison."

"How is that possible?" demanded Hotch

"I have no idea, there's nothing in his file to even give me a clue. But it gets even weirder my crime-fighting friends. We already heard the name Oleg Svinsky on the footage taken from the Coastguard vessel, leaving us with two somewhat disturbing questions: 1) what kind of criminal is so confident that he correctly identifies himself to a law enforcement officer in the minutes following a body dump? and 2) why, when I searched that name through every possible database, did I not get a hit until I had a decent image of his face?"

The team sat in silence. There were very few possible answers to this, the most innocent, and coincidentally, most unlikely, of these was a simple technical glitch combined with a particularly stupid unsub. But they all knew that was highly improbable.

"While you're all mulling over that puzzle, I'll add a few more gallons of water to your now flooding fountain of knowledge. And yet more questions to your riddle-box. I've been through the dirtbag's even dirtier internet history with a fine tooth comb and came across a curious website. You remember that delightfully innocent trading card game, Ghost Traders?"

The profilers gave a round of nods.

"Change but a single letter of the original URL you find with a simple Google search and boy does the game change. Switching out the final 'r' of trader with the Cyrillic letter 'г', leads you to a mirror site. It looks identical to the genuine website but has one minute difference.

Please, my darlings, bow down to my genius, and Mr Svinsky's stupidity and/or laziness. I had one of the Boston PD lab techs- a very talented young man I might add- clone our sleezebag's phone and wire me a virtual copy. Accessing the site via the phone's memory, I noticed a glaring anomaly: two very long numbers saved into the search bar. Here is the bow down part: the numbers are coordinates to a single pixel making up the mirror site. And, embedded in that single pixel? A gateway into a whole new world of disturbing."

The entire team sat forward with patient interest. "What did you find Garcia?"

"Some kind of underground fight club. I've only skimmed through the site so far but there are hundreds, if not thousands of fight videos on here."

The site appeared on the tv screen in front of them, with Garcia guiding them through it. Aside from the few images they could see of the video thumbnails, it meant very little to them as everything was written in Russian- aside from Emily, of course.

"Hotch, this matches with what I found out from Cook," Emily said. Hotch nodded in solemn agreement. "Fights can be searched by several different categories: by city, by Lieutenant, by date, by odds or by Ghost."

"Garcia, can you bring up the video from the latest fight?" Hotch asked, his eyes fixed on the tv screen.

"No problem, Boss"

The team heard a quick blast of typing followed by a few clicks of the mouse. A video, 2 photographs and a few lines of text appeared on the screen. From the two photographs stared back at them two men, both wearing white t-shirts and a determined expression in their lips. They eyes held no emotion whatsoever, although the lines around their eyes pointed a subtle finger towards exhaustion and unforgettable horrors.

"Prentiss, what does the text say?"

Prentiss focused on the letters for just a moment.

"Opposing Lieutenants: Philadelphia 2 and Washington 3.

Fighting for P2PA: 1170, house odds 11-2

Fighting for W3DC: 893, house odds 7-3

Fight designation: Black"

"I think we're about to find out what the data retrieved from Tom Hayes microchip meant." Reid said quietly.

The team nodded in agreement. "Play the video, Penelope." Hotch said softly.

"Really, Sir? It's over 20 minutes long…"

"Just play it, Garcia" Hotch repeated.

"Sir, yes, Sir" Garcia replied, "But I have a sneaky feeling this is something I do not wish to taint my darling screens with so whilst you are all sampling the dubious delights of the criminal underworld I'm going to see if I can combine the correlative data from the CCTV and facial rec with a new algorithm that Kevin has been working on to identify the other two unsubs from the boat. My chocolate Adonis, if you'd be so kind as to turn me far away from the tv-screen, I would very much appreciate it."

Morgan happily obliged and turned the laptop screen towards the back of the room. On the tv screen, two figures- apparently the ones from the photographs- were dragged into a cage of about 7 metres squared and 3 metres high. One (893) had a strip of purple cloth tied around his bicep, the other (1170) a strip of green cloth. Both were shackled but the men who had dragged them into the cage quickly released them and backed out of the cage, locking the barred doors behind them.

893 bounced on the balls of his feet in readiness, he was average height and slim in build. 1170 was slightly taller, with a somewhat heavier build. Nevertheless, he looked nervous. An unseen man barked an order in Russian and the two men began to circle each other, feinting blows here and there. Each time a man made a move, the large crowd surrounding the cage shouted and yelled in excitement.

Before the fight could begin in earnest, one of the BPD detectives entered the room. "Agent Hotchner, your request for a warrant for a search of Oleg Svinsky's residence and financial records was denied."

Hotch looked at the man in disbelief- their request for a warrant had been solid, a judge would have to be mad not to have granted it- disbelief which turned to confusion as the detective continued, "And you have an FBI Section Chief Morris on his way in to see you"

"Thank you, Detective, I'll be out in a moment." Hotch replied, then turned to his team, who were staring at him in shocked silence. "Get all you can from this video and see what else you can glean from the website, then continue with the profile." He got up and followed the detective out of the room.

The team watched him for a moment then turned back to the video. The fight was brutal and intense. 893 was unbelievably quick, landing sharp blows in quick succession before ducking away from the larger man's slower punches. Then 1170's fist connected squarely with 893's stomach, knocking the wind out of him with a loud whooshing sound. 893 dropped to the ground and rolled out of the way but not before 1170 kicked him firmly in the ribs.

The fight continued like this for another few minutes before Morgan noticed two red lines dividing the navigation bar into three. The first one was about half the way along the bar whilst the second was about 1/10th away from the end of the clip. With the team's consent, he scrolled to the first red line.

There was a jump in the clip, it didn't follow straight on from the first part, and then the two men held knives. The smaller man held two, one in each hand, with a third strapped to his calf, the other man held one in his right hand- it was large, like a hunting knife- with a second strapped to his hip and a third again on his calf. As in the first round, after the barked order from the unseen man, they feinted blows, whipping the knives to and fro, circling each other like vultures.

Suddenly the large man lunged forwards, only for 893 to sidestep out of the way and twist round to slash at his shoulders. When the crowd saw that the first blood had been drawn it roared with bloodlust, cheering for more. 1170 wheeled around in anger, but his eyes were calculating. He lunged forward again, but shifted at the last minute, so that as 893 attempted to sidestep again, his blade left a long red line across the man's stomach. Again the crowd roared in delight.

Suddenly the team heard a sharp scream, but it hadn't come from the tv screen in front of them, it had come from the laptop behind them. A small flutter of panic fluttered through Morgan as he all but leapt back towards the laptop.

"Penelope?"

He looked at the screen to see Garcia staring not-quite-back at him, presumably at something on her own screen, in utter shock, with her hands clamped over her mouth. She was as still as a statue.

"Baby Girl?"

He watched in terrified confusion as tears began to well up in her eyes. "Oh my God" she breathed, not even knowing she was doing.

"Baby Girl, what's going on?" Morgan almost shouted, and clapped his hands, trying to break her out of her stunned reverie. It seemed to do the trick. She jumped, then looked from him, back to her screen and then back to him again, her mouth opening and closing like a guppy fish, her disbelief totally silencing her.

After a few seconds a couple of syllables slipped out. "Derek… Derek" she whispered, her voice trembling.

"Garcia, what is it?" asked Reid, utterly perplexed.

"Penelope?" Derek demanded, his voice urgent.

"Derek, take me through to Hotch." Again her voice was trembling.

"Hotch? Why?"

"Just do it Derek! Just do it!" She shrieked back, her voice flying through several octaves to reach the terrifying heights of hysteria.

"Okay, okay, I'm going, just calm down okay?" Derek replied rapidly, picking up the computer and hurrying out the door, spotting Hotch talking to a tall man in a long black coat from across the room. He looked furious.

"Don't tell me to calm down, Derek Morgan! Just take me to Hotch!" Garcia shrieked again.

"He's talking to Section Chief Morris at the-" Morgan tried to say but she cut him off with a scream.

"I don't care if he's in a private audience with the Queen of England! I need to talk to him NOW!"

Morgan basically sprinted across the bullpen after that, coming to a staggering halt in front of Hotch, not caring about the cold glare he was receiving from Section Chief Morris. He turned the screen to face Hotch, who looked bewildered, and somewhat angry at the same time. "Agent Morgan, what are you-"

He cut himself off as he saw Garcia, who was sobbing violently and hyperventilating.

"Garcia, what's wrong?" He demanded.

"The… the female… unsub…" Garcia managed to choke out.

"What about the female unsub?"

"It's…" Garcia sobbed again, she looked totally distraught, "It's JJ."

* * *

Haha sorry to leave it there, but hey it was fun :) I'll update asap but now I've got several hours sleep to catch up on. Don't forget to review!


	11. Chapter 11

A/N back again, sorry for the delay. Hot damn this was really difficult to write so I hope it lives up to expectations. This chap starts off a few minutes before the end of the last chapter. Thanks for all the reviews (you blew me away with the response to chapter 10) favourites and follows, special thanks to Casie01, Guest, Guest, rmpcmfan, Leslet, HD, Jareau37, ismiseems, criminalprofiler and TeaOfTheMonth.

A final quick note, my sincerest apologies (especially to criminalprofiler and HD) to those of you who wanted Will and Henry in this fic. Due to the fact that I have no idea how I would react if I found out my spouse/mother had killed 19 people (and it would be unbelievably sad to write) Will and Henry will not be making an appearance in this story. Maybe another time :)

In the meantime please continue to read this fic and enjoy the chapter

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"Chief Morris, what can I do for you?" asked Hotch, confused as to why an FBI Section Chief should feel the need to speak to him in person in the middle of a case.

"I'm going to get straight to the point here, Agent Hotchner. I need you and your team to stand down."

Hotch frowned. "Our request for a search warrant wasn't denied was it? It never made it to a judge in the first place." It was more of a statement than a question.

Morris pretended not to hear. "I have spoken with Chief Strauss. She is expecting your team back at Quantico in 4 hours. You leave in 30 minutes."

"With all due respect, Sir, we were invited onto this case by the Boston Homicide Department. Eight people are dead. We will not be returning to Headquarters until the killers are caught or until asked to by the BPD."

"There is more going on here than you realise, Agent. Yes, eight people are dead. But that is just the tip of the iceberg. Unless you cease your investigation, many more will die and months of careful planning and investigating will go to waste. So, I will say it once more: the BAU will drop this case. Immediately. Do I make myself understood?"

Hotch was about to protest, but was distracted by Morgan hurrying towards him from across the bullpen, carrying a laptop. The detectives he left in his wake stared after him with a variety of expressions; bemusement, concern, bewilderment. Morgan himself just looked panicked, not an expression that usually graced his features.

Morgan staggered to a halt in front of him and turned the screen around to face him. "Agent Morgan, what are you-" Hotch stopped himself as he actually looked at the screen in front of him. On it was a distraught, entirely hysterical Garcia.

Hotch was concerned but right now he had more pressing issues than an upset technical analyst. "Garcia, what's wrong?" he demanded.

With the amount she was sobbing, he was surprised she was able to speak at all. "The… the female… unsub…" Garcia managed to choke out.

Hotch felt a bizarre thrill of excitement and dread. "What about the female unsub?" He waited a moment whilst Garcia wheezed in a breath, although it did little good.

"It's…" She sobbed again, "It's JJ" She burst into tears all over again.

Hotch couldn't think. Couldn't breathe. Apparently neither could Morgan; it was Chief Morris who caught the laptop as it fell from Derek's limp hands. They had finally found her, after all almost three years. Hotch felt elated, like he could dance from cloud to cloud and pluck a star from the sky. Because they'd found her.

But then he remembered why Garcia was crying, why his elation carried with it a sickening tinge of dread.

"Show me." He whispered. "Garcia, show me."

Garcia was still sobbing hysterically but had regained enough of herself to put two pictures up onto the screen. On the left hand side was the woman from the boat; the one with close cropped hair, dead eyes and a determined set to her mouth. The one with a terrifying scar that stretched around her eye and across her cheek. On the right was JJ's old FBI ID photo. She was smiling; her long blonde hair only outshone by the vibrancy in her cerulean blue eyes. Hotch had only a moment to feel that familiar pang of grief and guilt before the reality of the situation hit him like a brick wall. There could be no argument that they were one and the same.

He slumped against the desk behind him.

Morgan, realising that Hotch's reaction confirmed the terrible truth of Garcia's words, slid down the wall and sat with his head in his hands.

Hotch just looked around the room listlessly, trying to comprehend how this was even possible. Then his eyes settled on his team, who were still in the conference room, staring in shock and confusion. Oh God, they still didn't know. Prioritise, he told himself, trying to collect his thoughts.

"Garcia, I want you on the first flight out to Boston, understood?" Garcia was still sniffling but gave a small nod and started typing. Chief Morris had put the laptop down on the other desk. Something was off. Aside from slightly pursed lips and an almost unperceivable frown, he had not reacted. Hotch's face darkened in anger, but he had to maintain his control for a short while longer. Slowly, calmly, he shut the laptop and turned to Morgan.

"Morgan, go and call Kevin Lynch, tell him to go to Garcia. Explain to him what is going on. I don't want her alone right now"

Morgan nodded absently, got out his phone and walked away.

Now Hotch turned to Morris. He spoke quietly but his voice was laced with fury. "How long have you known?"

"Agent Hotchner, I know what you're thinking but this doesn't change anything. Your team-"

"This changes everything!" Hotch yelled, ignoring the stares it earned him from around the police station. "Agent Jareau has been missing for almost three years; if you think my team is going to turn tail and head on home now then I suggest you speak to Chief Strauss."

"As I said before Agent, I have spoken with Strauss. She and I are in agreement that you and your team should return to Quantico."

"I'm sure you are, however, when you spoke to Strauss I would imagine that you failed to mention that one of her missing agents had been found." Hotch felt the tiniest glimmer of satisfaction as Morris looked away, confirming his suspicions. "Now, answer the question. How long have you known?" He shouted again and stepped forward so that he was less than a hair's breadth from Morris's face.

Morris took an automatic step backwards but then held his ground and looked Hotch in the eye. "It came to my attention four months ago that _former_ Agent Jareau was in Boston."

Hotch returned his gaze with a mixture of disgust and disbelief. "You've known the location of a missing agent for four months and done nothing? How did you even find out where she was? Why did you not do something to help her?!"

"The people holding Miss Jareau are the focus of a highly confidential and delicate investigation. Extracting Jareau would have undone the entire case." Morris's voice softened, "Agent, I understand how you feel, but she is not the woman you remember. She has killed people. The only thing waiting for her out here is a prison sentence."

"I don't care." Hotch said coldly, although inside that knowledge was tearing him apart, "My team and I are not leaving Boston. If you have a problem with that I suggest you talk to Strauss and actually tell her the truth this time. Whilst you're doing that, I need to go and deal with my team." And with that he walked away, desperately trying to keep a lid on his rage.

He almost had his mask back in place by the time he strode into the conference room but it wasn't good enough. His pain was clear for everyone to see, as was Morgan's as he slipped in behind Hotch.

"Everyone, please, take a seat"

All the team sat around the desk, waiting in trepidation. Hotch took a deep breath and tried to work out what to tell them, how to tell them. He bit his lip unconsciously.

"Garcia got a hit on facial rec on the footage from the Coastguard vessel." He paused again. This was it. "The female…" He stopped, 'unsub' didn't feel right anymore, not when he was talking about JJ. "The woman from the boat…" He trailed off. He couldn't say it. Saying it would make it undeniably and irrevocably true.

Morgan came to his aid, although his voice cracked as a he spoke. "It's JJ"

They sat in stunned silence for what felt like an eternity, a myriad of emotions running across their faces. It was a good minute before anyone spoke. The first one to say anything was Reid, his voice high and quiet.

"She's alive" he said softly. Then a grin spread across his face. "She's alive" He repeated to himself. Because she was, and to him that's all that mattered.

Blake laid her hand on Prentiss's shoulder; Emily was staring in to space, her hands pressed together as if in prayer against her lips. She hardly dared to believe it. She looked up at Hotch and his face told him everything she needed to know. In fact it told her too much. JJ was one of their… unsubs… possibly even a killer. Yes, the despair that lurked in Hotch's eyes confirmed that.

She thought to herself that maybe now she truly understood how the team had felt when they found out about the Doyle operation, and the relationship she had been required to develop with him. She put her head in her hands, trying to equate the JJ she had known with the killer from the boat.

"Oh Bella" Rossi breathed. He had known, they had all known, that after this length of time, if they were to find JJ, that she would have changed. But he had never imagined it could have been like this. True, they did not have absolute confirmation, but as he tracked back over the CODs of the bodies in the morgue, he knew. In a way though, it gave him hope. Fatal laceration of the neck from behind was not the MO of a willing killer.

"Where do we go from here?" asked Prentiss, she sounded exhausted.

Hotch sighed and rubbed his temples. "Honestly, I don't know. I need to negotiate with Morris and Strauss. Needless to say, we will not be going home until we can take JJ home with us."

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As always please leave a review, even with the sun out I like to have something extra to brighten my day :)


	12. Chapter 12

A/N would have had this up sooner but I burned my hand so couldn't type (sounds pathetic I know but considering I spent last night sleeping with my hand in a bowl of cold water...) Turned out fairly well in the end because I never planned for this chapter to turn out the way it did. I really hope you like it because I definitely do.

Clarifying when this is set: JJ went missing around the start of season 7, so I guess the majority of this story is actually set in a would-be season 10? So Emily's showdown with Doyle happened but after JJ faked her death she went back to the State Department.

Thanks to all the reviewers of the last chapter, (i-Linda, Guest, Casie01, Leslet, Cupcake, rmpcmfan and Jareau37) you guys keep me motivated :D

Enjoy

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Emily sat down heavily on the bed, utterly exhausted. Hotch had sent the team back to the hotel to get some rest whilst he negotiated with Morris and Strauss. She didn't know why; to her sleep seemed impossible, despite the fatigue that plagued her- both mental and physical. Blake followed her into the room. She and Blake were sharing a room, as were Morgan and Reid, and Rossi and Hotch.

"Are you okay?" asked Blake, sitting down next to her. Emily just looked at her. "You're right," Blake said with a wry smile, "stupid question. Do you want to talk about it?"

"No… Yes… I don't know…" Emily murmured, not really sure. She sighed. No. She was Emily Prentiss. Queen of Compartmentalisation, High Priestess of Keeping-your-emotions-in-check. "No, you take first shower. I'll be fine, really" She said reassuringly as Blake squeezed her shoulder and nodded.

Alex had expected as much. Emily never talked about JJ's disappearance, or the circumstances leading up to it. "Okay, well if you ever need to talk, I'm here for you." Emily smiled as she grabbed her washbag and headed to the bathroom.

Emily waited until the bathroom door was locked and she could hear the shower running before reaching for her go-bag and digging straight to the bottom. She pulled out a tattered old case file. JJ's case file. The edges of the pages were worn and soft, smoothed by countless openings and turns of the pages.

Emily had learned over the last few years that you didn't need a brain like Reid's to memorise files perfectly; you just had to keep reading that file over and over again, scouring it for some detail you missed that last hundred times you read it, desperate to find something, anything, that could help you find your friend.

She opened the file and felt that familiar pang of grief and guilt. She traced her finger lightly over the small photograph that was paper clipped to the first page. Seeing her best friend smiling back at her was all it took to break the dam. She sniffed and quickly wiped away the tears that escaped her eyes but soon gave in as memories of the day everything changed came flooding back to her.

_Something was wrong. She didn't know for sure but she couldn't deny the niggling doubt that gnawed at her. She had been in Paris for two months and since her arrival, every other day, like clockwork, she and 'Cheetobreath' played scrabble. The two hours of dialogue were about all that were keeping her sane._

_It had been 5 days since their last game, and Prentiss was now on edge. She jumped as the phone rang. Then felt a short stab of panic. It was __**the**__ phone. The one JJ had given her, that only she and Hotch had the number for, only to be used in an absolute emergency. Taking a deep breath to calm her breathing, she picked up. "Prentiss" She said smoothly. It felt good to say her name again._

"_Emily." It was Hotch. "It's so good to hear your voice." He breathed, relief permeating his tone. She too, found a strange relief in hearing his voice after so long, even if it wasn't quite the same business-like voice that she remembered; she could hear a small hint of fear at its edge, but a hint was more than enough to put her on high alert._

"_Hotch. What's going on? Is JJ okay?"_

"_You know?" Hotch said in disbelief. If Emily hadn't been afraid before she sure as hell was now._

"_What? No, I don't. But we've been out of contact for 5 days. It's not like her. Hotch, tell me she's okay." Emily spoke at a hundred miles an hour, panic edging into her voice._

"_She's gone, Emily. She's been missing for three days."_

"_What do you mean, gone? Oh God, it's Doyle isn't it? He got to her."_

"_We don't know that for certain, we've only just confirmed that she's missing. That said, it is a distinct possibility. In which case it would be best to assume that you are no longer safe in Paris."_

_Emily didn't need to be told twice. She was already firing up her laptop, ready to look up the next available flight to DC, whilst simultaneously tearing clothes out of her cupboard and throwing them into her go-bag. "Next flight out to DC is tomorrow morning at 10:15, fax me through copies of the case file."_

"_We won't be in DC, Prentiss, we fly out to Chicago in an hour."_

"_Chicago? I don't understand; I thought JJ was still based in Washington?"_

"_She is. I checked with her team at the State Department; apparently she took an unexpected week of leave- she didn't say where she was going or why. I had Garcia go through her financial and phone records; she found a debit transaction on a flight to Chicago O'Hare. We've already checked with O'Hare airport security and they confirmed that she definitely arrived in Chicago. Garcia also found a deposit on a hotel suite. Local LEOs sent to check it out reported that it had been ransacked and there were signs of a struggle."_

"_Oh God" Prentiss breathed, her heart in her mouth._

"_That's not the worst of it, I'm afraid." Hotch continued, "Garcia ran a couple of checks; several women have gone missing in Chicago in the last month or so, all with blond hair and blue eyes."_

_Emily didn't know what to think. Had it not been for Doyle's cat-and-mouse games with her just a few months before, she would have said that this didn't feel like Doyle, he wasn't one to beat around the bush. But now she wasn't sure. _

"_Okay, send me what you've got so far." She reeled off the number of the fax machine she had bought not three weeks before. "Meet me at O'Hare International tomorrow at 12:45."_

"_The files are on the way. I'll see you tomorrow. How do you want to play this?"_

_Emily paused. She knew he wasn't talking about JJ's disappearance. As far as the team was concerned, Emily Prentiss had died 10 weeks ago. They had buried her, and now walked past her portrait every morning._

"_I have no idea. I haven't let myself think about the possibility of coming home. Even if I had, I never would have imagined it would be like this." She admitted._

"_It's not ideal…" Hotch trailed off. He too had no idea what the best way to deal with this situation was. The only thing he could predict was that team's reactions, and even then not with much certainty._

"_Hotch?"_

"_Yes?"_

"_We'll find her. We'll bring her home."_

_Hotch didn't say anything for a few moments. "I'll see you tomorrow, Emily."_

Prentiss let out a bitter laugh at the memory. How naïve she had been. And now here she was, almost three years later, seemingly within reaching distance of her friend and yet at the same time, she had never felt further away.

* * *

Crow looked down at the woman sleeping in the cage next to his. She tossed and turned restlessly, but that was not unusual. Ghosts did not sleep peacefully, not even Smiler. He shivered slightly as the cold of the Ghosts' quarters seeped into his aching muscles. Jay slept with both of their blankets wrapped around her. They had a deal: whoever was on watch passed their blanket to whoever's turn it was to sleep. Jay always took first watch. They'd swapped over about two hours ago.

He looked down at her again as she moaned in her sleep. Reaching through the bars, he stroked her cheek to sooth her, as he did every night. As she did every night for him. She quieted, but a slight frown still distorted her features.

"_I have everything I need from her. I need her to disappear. Permanently. I know you can make that happen." Even though her brain was hazy due to the pain and the drugs he had pumped into her, JJ easily recognised that soft, Irish accent. Almost immediately, the crushing weight of agonising guilt came crashing back down on her._

_She had broken._

_For two days she had held out. A pathetic, measly two days was all she could take before she had given her up. Given up her best friend to the monster from her past._

_She moaned in pain as Doyle kicked her forward onto the concrete floor, the cool surface providing no relief for the burns and cuts that littered her battered body. She coughed weakly, her throat still raw from the waterboarding, as someone used a cane to roll her over onto her back. She opened her eyes the tiniest bit to see a tall man looming over her._

"_As you know, Law Enforcement is my speciality." He said. JJ didn't recognise him. He had a deep and gravelly voice, as though he'd smoked one too many packets of cigarettes. "As it happens, I have a meet set up with a Lieutenant in a couple of weeks and this one is just his type. How much do you want for her?"_

"_She's free of charge. Maximising your profit is the least I can do given the circumstances." Doyle replied easily._

"_And that is much appreciated. Especially given how you've done half of my job for me by the looks of things." The man said, using his cane to gesture to the injuries covering her exposed flesh. "What did she do to warrant that?"_

_Doyle smiled. "She hid something from me. I want it back." He said cryptically._

_The other man nodded, happy to accept such a vague answer given the high quality product on offer. "Very well." He stopped, and whistled loudly towards a man hovering just outside the door to the room. "Load this one into the van. Put her in with the others when we get back to base." _

"_Can I just have a moment with her before you leave?" asked Doyle suddenly. The other man nodded again. Doyle crouched down next to her and yanked her head up by her hair, so that ear was just centimetres away from his lips. _

"_I'd love to stay longer, but I have a meeting in Paris" He hissed. "How long do you think Emily will last before she gives in? She's a tough girl, stronger than you at least, so I'm going to go with five days. Do you know what I'm going to tell her on that fifth day? When she looks up at me in despair, begging for death? I'm going to tell her the truth. That she was wrong to trust you. That you were too weak to keep her secrets. And then… I'm going to kill her. Slowly. Slowly enough that she has time to truly hate you before she dies."_

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Damn that was a fun one to write :) as always please review, reviews keep my plot bunnies hopping


	13. Chapter 13

A/N okay so this chapter isn't quite as exciting as the last chapter, its a bit information heavy. However, this information is important so don't cut out on me just yet. Thanks to Leslet, rmpcmfan, Cupcake, Guest, Casie01 and Jareau37 for your reviews, you guys are basically to blame for my future exam failures because you motivate me to write this instead of doing revision... that said I'll take any excuse not to revise...

Anyways, enjoy this chapter :D

* * *

Bleary eyed but alert and anxious to get started, the team filed back into the conference room. Each had only managed a couple of hours sleep but some was better than none. Hotch looked dead on his feet but determined. Already in the room besides Hotch were two other people, one of which was Chief Morris.

Everyone took a seat and Hotch looked to his team. "I have spoken at length with Strauss and Chief Morris. Although profiling is not essential to this case, we will remain involved in the investigation so long as we can remain objective. If any of you feel that you will be unable to do so, Strauss has granted you leave to remain in Boston for the length of the investigation." He looked around the table, meeting the eye of each of his agents in turn.

They all nodded back to him. They were all lying, but so long as they could at least present a decent façade of objectivity then that was good enough for him. After all, that was exactly what he was doing. Satisfied, he turned to the man stood next to Chief Morris. "This is SSA Santiago. He's running point on the Ghost Traders operation in Boston."

Santiago stepped forward. "Glad to have you all on board. First off I should give you some background. The Ghost Traders or **prizrak treydery**, are a massive criminal organisation operating up and down the East Coast. They call their leaders 'Lieutenants'. There are three for each major East Coast city; Boston, New York, Philadelphia, Baltimore and Washington. They've got their fingers in every criminal pie you can think of. Drugs trafficking, sex trafficking, murder for hire, arms dealing. You name it, they're into it. More than that, they control it. No dealer or gang makes a move without their knowledge or approval."

"The oligarchs of the criminal underworld." Murmured Rossi.

Santiago nodded. "Exactly."

"How long have you been investigating these 'Ghost Traders'?" asked Blake.

"About 5 years now, although we've now learned that a number of earlier investigations into other areas of organised crime were stumbling around the edges. We just didn't know it at the time."

"Five years and you don't have enough to take them down? What's going wrong?" Prentiss asked bluntly.

Santiago bristled visibly at her question but answered smoothly. "Not enough solid evidence. Witnesses are too afraid to come forward or, if they did, were silenced one way or another. The Lieutenants are an undercover no fly zone-"

"How so?"

"The last man we put in was under for almost a year; he worked his way up through one of the drug rings in Washington across into one of the Lieutenants' base of operations and gathering any intelligence he could along the way. Evidence he collected was passed along via a dead-drop, Cold War style, but six months ago he set up a meet with his handler."

"What happened?" asked Hotch.

"We found the handler's body the morning after the meet was due to take place, with a bullet through his forehead."

"The undercover flipped?"

"Jason. His name was Jason Turner, and no. Jason was a good man. Perhaps too good… We didn't find what was left of his body until the following week."

Hotch bowed his head slightly. "I'm sorry."

Reid appeared to be becoming more and more agitated. "Santiago, I'm sorry for the loss of your friend. Really, I am, but I don't understand what this has to do with our case or JJ. If these Lieutenants are so powerful, you must know where they're hiding out. Where they run their organisation from? I don't understand how you could know the location of a missing agent and do nothing about it."

Hotch shot him a warning look. This was not remaining objective. They could not afford to antagonise anyone; they were really only being involved in the case as a courtesy. Santiago didn't seem the least bit offended however, if anything there was a small hint of approval in his eyes.

"The Lieutenants are smart, organised and ruthless. They live by their own set of rules. Top on that set of rules is that there must always be three Lieutenants per city. Washington, four years ago and Baltimore, 2002. What springs to mind?"

Rossi looked up, "We all remember Washington in 2010. It was a bloodbath." There was a round of nods from around the table.

"Over 140% increase in the crime rate, particularly gang related crimes. Written off as flukes- no single cause was ever determined." Said Reid.

"No, at least not in the public eye. In February 2010, we had gathered enough evidence to take down the First Lieutenant in Washington, so we did. The crime wave that followed was the terrifying result of the power vacuum we left behind. The remaining two Lieutenants fought tooth and nail for the trades and territories that were suddenly up for grabs. Hundreds of people died as gangs changed allegiance and tore each other apart. It was the Washington Third who won. Five years later, his power is only increasing."

"That's why you can't take out the Boston Second, the one who has JJ. If you did, the backlash would claim hundreds of innocent lives." Prentiss said quietly. "It's like the hydra. Cut off one head, another just grows back in its place."

"I'd say that's a fair analogy. Even when the Washington Third took power and became the First, the law still dictated that there be three Lieutenants in Washington. The First put his second-in-command in charge of his former territory as the new Washington Third. Two years after that he took out the Second and replaced him with one of the man's inner circle who was loyal to him. The First now controls every single criminal activity in Washington."

Rossi let out a low whistle.

"It doesn't stop there. He's looking to expand his personal empire into Boston. He's already struck up a secret alliance with the Boston Third. It's a dangerous situation. He is using his strength to supply weapons and resources to both the Boston First and Second, who are quietly gearing up for an all-out war instead of settling their differences with the usual Ghost fights. Unless we can shut down the Boston Lieutenants, and quickly, we're looking at a bloodbath no matter which way we turn. We had a window of opportunity, but recent events have all but closed it."

"The Ghost fights. We watched one of those yesterday, didn't we?" Blake asked quietly, remembering the video all too well. She almost wished she had been Morgan yesterday; thanks to Garcia's interruption, he hadn't seen the final section of the fight. The section where it wasn't about trading blows or slicing skin. It had been a vicious, brutal fight to the death.

"Yes. Normally when Lieutenants have a falling out over territory, they settle their disputes with a Ghost fight. Two 'ghosts' as they call them, are forced into a cage to fight on the behalf of their Lieutenant.

The outcome of the fight depends on what is at stake. Red fights are for smaller business disputes or just for amusement. The fight finishes when one of the fighters falls unconscious. The fight you watched yesterday was a Black fight. These are used for more high profile trades or key territories. As you saw, only one fighter leaves the cage alive.

The fights keep bloodshed to a minimum and morale in the organisation high. Poachers operate all over the country, abducting people from all backgrounds to sell on to the Lieutenants. Some have links with other criminal organisations to provide a service to make people 'disappear' for a price."

"Doyle." Prentiss whispered involuntarily. Thankfully it was quiet enough that only Morgan, who was sat next to her, heard her. He looked at her reassuringly.

"How did you find out JJ was in Boston? A kidnapped FBI agent doesn't sound like the kind of thing any criminal would want to broadcast." Asked Reid.

"Oleg Svinsky, the latest body to find itself on Dr Betker's autopsy table, was our confidential informant. He mentioned Agent Jareau in passing four months ago. He didn't know her name. Just said that she was an ex-law enforcement Ghost that his Lieutenant had bought from Washington a couple of months before. But I knew it was her."

The entire team looked as though they'd been run over by a truck. She'd been in Washington, in the same damn city as them and they hadn't had a clue.

"What was the window of opportunity you mentioned? Why has it closed?" asked Rossi suddenly.

"If we arrest all three Lieutenants in Boston simultaneously, we can minimise the backlash; without anyone holding the leash, it would be easy to dismantle the Boston branch of the organisation. Thanks to Svinsky, we know that there is a fight coming up where all three Lieutenants will be present. Lieutenants aren't usually present at their fights because it makes them easier targets but with relations between the First and Second being what they are they've had to make an exception.

The fight will be between the First and Second, in Third territory with the Third presiding over to keep the exchange genial. Problem is, Svinsky was supposed to deliver intel on where and when the fight will take place tomorrow. Now that he's dead, we're blind. Hence, a lost opportunity. We don't know when another like this will pop up." Santiago ran a hand through his hair and sighed in frustration.

"You need someone on the inside." Hotch stated.

"Exactly, but we know from experience how badly that turns out. If we did somehow manage to convince an undercover to go in, they would have to go in as a Ghost. And that would be nigh on impossible without taking some… cautionary measures. Even then, conditions inside the Ghosts' quarters are tough. It would be a dangerous operation, with no guarantees."

"I'll do it." Said Morgan suddenly; he had a determined look in his eyes.

"I'm sorry, Agent, but I can't allow that. The risks are too great. If this op were to go ahead, it would have to be carried out by an experienced undercover. And one with a level head, you're far too emotionally involved to go inside on this." Chief Morris replied.

"With all due respect, Sir, I worked as an undercover officer for five years during my time with the Chicago PD narcotics unit. I know how to handle myself under pressure. As for my emotional involvement-"

Santiago cut him off. "Sir, if I might interrupt? If Agent Morgan is truly serious about this, it could be useful to have someone known to Jareau going in. She may not be high up in the organisation but it's possible that she could help us."

"We have one shot at this, Santiago. If we mess it up, we lose our only remaining route into the Ghost Traders." Morris replied flatly.

Santiago turned to Morgan. "Morgan, are you absolutely certain you are prepared to do this? The only way a Ghost is presented to a Lieutenant is via a Poacher, and these are violent people. Your injuries and your tag will have to be real; we can't fake UV tattoos or whip marks well enough for them to stand up to the level of scrutiny exercised by the Lieutenants. For an op like this, you don't just need to play the part. You need to _be_ the part." He looked at Morgan carefully, analysing his reaction.

"If I get you the information you need, you'll take down the Boston Lieutenants and we can bring JJ home?"

Santiago nodded.

Hotch stepped in. "Morgan, I can't let you do this. We'll find another way to bring JJ home."

"Hotch, if you've got a better idea then please, share it. If we don't find out where that fight is going to be then JJ will be left in the middle of a gang war on steroids. This isn't your decision to make." Morgan replied quickly.

He turned back to Santiago. "I'm certain. I'll do it."

* * *

Hope you liked this chapter, and that you don't have brain ache now. Comme toujours, please review.

Oh and a quick note for Cupcake: yes it is meant to be a prank but I've tried it enough times on my sister to know that it doesn't work... its a shame really...


	14. Chapter 14

A/N back again, hope you enjoy this one. It's a bit of a filler but hey Morgan's got to get inside somehow right? Anything in _italics_ is a mini flashback to just before the op begins. Anything **bold** is Russian as always (not much Russian in this because Lex is American)

Special thanks to Cupcake, HD, Casie01, Leslet, TeaOfTheMonth, Jareau37 and rmpcmfan. As always you guys are awesome.

* * *

Morgan grimaced as the van juddered to a halt. Despite the local anaesthetic Lex had administered, the wounds on his back were still sore. Lex was their route into the Ghost Traders. He was an ex-Poacher, who had been helping Santiago with the investigation for over two years now.

* * *

"_Strip down and put these on." Lex ordered. Morgan looked him up and down; this was a man who was very much used to giving orders, not taking them. He walked over to the table at the side of the room and removed his boots, jeans and t-shirt before putting on the greyed white shorts and t-shirt. Lex walked over to him. _

_He nodded in approval and ran a hand along the muscles of Morgan's arms. "Very impressive musculature, a healthy glow in the skin… Yes, we might just get old Mikhail to bite with you. Your friend, Prentiss was it? As a Russian speaker she perhaps would have been better suited to this op but females are much harder to sell. You on the other hand are exactly what we need."_

_Morgan couldn't help but notice the business-like manner of this briefing. Apparently you could take the Poacher out of the Ghost Traders but you couldn't take the Poacher out of the man._

* * *

The doors at the back of the van opened and Lex appeared with another man, one Morgan didn't know. Morgan struggled as they lifted him up and out of the van but there was only so much he could do with his hands bound behind his back and his feet shackled together with only a foot of chain between them.

"Where's the rest?" The man Morgan didn't know asked.

"None of your business, Watcher. I came to deal with the Lieutenant, not you." Lex replied sharply. The other man looked angry but didn't reply. Instead he marched Morgan forward and through the door from the loading bay into the warehouse, with Lex following just behind him.

Once inside, he pushed Morgan to a tall flight of metal steps that led up to the Lieutenant's office. The cold metal felt unnatural as it dug into his bare feet. The Watcher knocked on the door and on hearing an "**Enter**", he pushed it open, gesturing for Lex to go inside. He shoved Morgan through after him and had him stand in one corner of the room.

"Well, well. Look what the cat dragged in." The Lieutenant said, getting up from behind his desk and stalking around it to face Lex. "You've got some nerve showing up here. Two years chilling with the 5-0 and you think you're free to just stroll back into the fold?" He glared at him suspiciously. The tension within the room was tangible. The Watcher's hand shifted to the gun in his belt.

Morgan's heart was pounding. They'd been set up. How did he know that Lex was working for the cops? Why hadn't the Lieutenant killed them already? The two men in front of him were squaring up to each other in an intense standoff.

Suddenly the Lieutenant's glare merged into a smile and he laughed. Lex laughed as well and embraced him. "Good to see you, Mikhail. Hawaii's been treating me good but there's nothing like coming home to Boston."

Morgan's shoulders sagged in relief.

"What happened?" asked the Lieutenant, "I thought you'd retired and got out of the game for good? You were going to spend the rest of your days in luxury on the golden sands of Hawaii?"

"That's the problem with luxury, Mikhail; it burns holes in your pockets and then burns the money that was in those pockets. One minute I'm lying on a beach with a pretty lady on each arm and a scotch in each hand, next minute my bank account has been bled dry and I am forced to return to work."

The Lieutenant chuckled. "That's all very well and good, Alex, but why have you brought this Cheap to me. You know I don't buy local catch. You will have to take your wares elsewhere I'm afraid."

Now it was Lex's turn to laugh. "And how many times have you told me that before. Let me tell you, enough times to know that if I bring you the right product at the right price, its origin doesn't matter. Now here I am again, with exactly that." He turned and motioned towards Morgan. The Watcher brought him forward. "I've been working on this one for a couple of weeks now. From a batch of eight, he ranked first. His knife skills still require some polishing but his hand-to-hand combat is unsurpassed. The rest of the catch didn't even come close."

The Lieutenant looked impressed. "If he comes up to scratch I've got a Ghost who'll teach him a thing or two about knives." He took a black light torch from his desk drawer. "What're we looking at then?" He mused as he shone the light over the inside of Morgan's wrist. Blue letters and numbers glowed back at him.

He gave a low whistle. "Fourteen thousand? That's quite a premium you've got there. What happened to the right product at the right price? I'm not going higher than six."

"Twelve"

"Eight"

"Eleven"

"Nine."

"Eleven"

"Nine and a half"

"Eleven." Lex was adamant. "Eleven thousand, not a penny less. Take it or leave it, Mikhail. I didn't come here to be insulted. If you don't like what I'm selling, I'll take my wares elsewhere."

The Lieutenant narrowed his eyes. He knew all too well that he needed to replenish his stock. "Fine, eleven thousand. But your commission will be 15%. Final offer."

Lex smiled genially. "It's good to be back in the game." The pair shook on it, sealing the deal.

Morgan felt somewhat nauseous, being sold like a slab of meat. He couldn't help but wonder what the team must be thinking, listening to the transaction on the other end of the wire sewn into his shirt hem.

* * *

"_The anaesthetic will start wearing off_ _in about 8 hours. When it does, you'll have to learn to cope with the pain. If anything it will be a good thing; it's very hard to fake being in pain convincingly for long periods of time. If the pain does become unbearable, there are two small pills of Vicodin sewn into the hem of your t-shirt, along with the audio device. Do not take them on an empty stomach." Lex said sternly._

_Morgan nodded but he was nervous now. He rubbed at his wrist, where he could just see the red outline of the UV tattoo. He could get it lasered when the op was over but it still didn't feel right, putting a price on human life like that. His wasn't 'real' but it was shockingly real for JJ, and for the other Ghosts._

_There was a quiet knock on the door, and Emily walked in. "Can I talk to Morgan alone for a moment?" She asked. _

_Lex nodded gruffly and clapped Morgan on the shoulder. Morgan grimaced slightly as Lex grazed a deep cut on his upper arm. "Yeah, sure. We're all good to go in here." He smiled and left the room._

_Emily looked Morgan up and down with tears in her eyes. He looked terrible, and he knew it. A purple bruise covered almost half of his face and his torso and back were littered with fresh cuts and a cigarette burn here and there._

"_It's not as bad as it looks." He said wryly, "at least not yet."_

_Emily shook her head. "It should be me going in there. It's my fault she's in there in the first place. If she hadn't tried to protect me…"_

"_Emily, none of this is your fault. JJ knew the risks, but she did it anyway, because she cared for you." Morgan stepped over to her and drew her into a close hug. "I've already lost you twice before. I can't go through that again. I need you to be safe" He murmured._

_Emily nodded into his shoulder._

"_Besides," he said, "we need someone who can actually speak Russian to listen in the wire. It's all very well and good me going under but unless someone can translate the information, I'm as good as useless."_

"_That wouldn't be any different from normal then." Emily replied with a laugh, quickly wiping the tears from her cheeks, "I always said you should've been a swimsuit model rather than an FBI agent. Then all you'd have to do would be look pretty all day."_

"_Well we both know that's what I do best." Morgan winked, but after a pause he sobered. "I'm going to bring her back, Em. I promise."_

_Emily nodded. "Just make sure you make it back in one piece as well."_

* * *

Morgan's attention was drawn back to the room by movement.

"Payment in hundreds or mixed?" the Lieutenant replied, crossing the room to a safe embedded in the wall.

"Mixed bills if you will."

"You Poachers are all the same, can never be too careful."

"In some respects we are the same, I grant you. But some bring in high quality catch and some just try hocking the dregs. And high quality catch is what I pride myself on. You won't be disappointed, old friend."

"You've never let me down before, Alex. I don't expect you to start now." He handed him a $10,000 wad of cash and then counted out a further grand in a mixture of 10, 20 and 50 dollar bills. "Eleven thousand." He motioned towards the Watcher. "Take him down to quarters. Testing starts tomorrow."

He turned back to Lex. "A drink to your return?"

"Not this time, my friend. I've got an appointment with the Philly Third tomorrow morning so I'd best be on my way."

"As you will, I guess I'll just have to drink yours myself." The Lieutenant replied, pouring himself two shots of vodka. "Good luck selling the rest of the batch."

Lex laughed. "I don't need luck."

* * *

Crow jumped as the door to the Quarters burst open and a Watcher marched through, dragging someone along behind him. He opened the cage opposite Jay's with a bang. Jay jerked awake, torn from her fitful slumber by the noise, and automatically reached for the knife at her hip.

Crow reached out to grab her hand. "**It's nothing, Jay. They just brought in a fresh Cheap. Go back to sleep.**"

* * *

So what did you think? I know, I know, we're so close now I can almost taste the reunion... Don't forget to review :D


	15. Chapter 15

A/N hello again, here we are with the long(ish) awaited chapter, although it's a little shorter than usual. A quick not for Cupcake, I've never eaten a Churro, but I don't think this particular reunion tastes like one...

Thanks to snuggleUP, Leslet, Cupcake, rmpcmfan, TeaOfTheMonth and Jareau37, without you this chapter would not have been up so quickly.

And thanks especially to Leslet and Casie01 for your input on this part, let me know if it lives up to expectations (there is of course still more to come.)

**bold **is Russian, although there is phonetically written out Russian for when Morgan hears it, the translation is in bold next to it. _italics_ is thoughts/the Ghosts' sign language (yes for the Ghosts who don't learn Russian there is a form of hand signals they use to communicate).

* * *

Jay was woken by the sound of metal clashing with metal as two Watchers walked through the room banging lengths of metal pipes on their cages. Two other Watchers followed behind with keys to unlock them. Wiping the sleep from her eyes, Jay shrugged on her hoodie and pushed the sleeves up above her elbows. Then she folded Crow's blanket before passing it through the bars back to him.

She lingered in the safety of her cage for just a moment after the Watcher turned the lock and then swung herself out. She flinched automatically as a Watcher barked down the room. "**Get a move on you lazy bastards. Food's getting cold!**"

Cringing away as the Watchers stalked back past her, she heard one of the new Cheaps mutter something under his breath.

"**Keep your mouth shut." **She hissed at him, glaring. The last thing she need was some idiot Cheap stirring up trouble. Then she saw the man standing next to him and she stopped dead. "**No**" she whispered, staring at the apparition in front of her. Morgan. She felt like she'd just been kicked in the stomach, no, like someone had shoved a knife in her chest- and she knew what that felt like. He was just stood there, staring at her in disbelief.

Morgan was frozen to the spot, staring at her face, somehow unable to believe this was real. He felt his throat tighten as he saw the extent to which his friend had changed. Gone was the confident, cheerful woman he had once known. He could see it in the way she held herself, as though she was trying to make herself as small as possible, as unnoticeable as possible. Her stance was fearful and on edge, as though an attack could come from anywhere.

Her close cropped hair was shorter than it had been in the Coastguard footage, somehow it made the nasty scar around her eye stand out more, making her look cold and dangerous. He swallowed, trying to think of something, anything, to say. But what do you say to someone you haven't seen in three years, who has changed out of all recognition?

The pair were stock still, like statues frozen in time, as the rest of the Ghosts filed past them, all aside from Crow, who was crouched at the entrance to his cage, watching them intently.

"JJ" he finally said, his voice cracking as he did so, utterly unable to move.

"Morgan" She whispered his name, her voice trembling. As her shock subsided, she felt the cold hand of despair clawing at her heart, followed by a searing flash of anger. _Why is he here? Oh God, I know why he's here._ She shook her head._ It doesn't matter now, there are only two possible outcomes. He dies or he becomes like me... Becomes a killer._

Crow looked at her in confusion. He tapped his forearm with his index and middle finger then turned his palm upwards. _You know him?_ Jay nodded once in reply. How could Morgan even bear to look at her after everything she'd done… Then it all came back to her in a storm; a flood of memories she had fought tooth and nail to forget. She could feel her eyes watering and panic beginning to rear its ugly head. She grasped the hilt of her knife to stop her hand from shaking.

Morgan's eyes widened and he took a step backward, his eyes flickering to her exposed forearm; to the cuts that lingered there as a permanent reminder of her guilt. "JJ it's just me."

Jay had never felt so ashamed. _He must think I'm a monster. How can he even bear to look at me? I must disgust him._ She hastily pulled down her sleeves and looked away, her eyes locking with Crow's. "**Let's go.**" She muttered sadly. Together they turned to leave.

"JJ, wait, I'm sorry." Morgan stepped forward to grab her arm, to stop her leaving.

Her reaction was automatic, as was Crow's. Both immediately tore their knives from their sheaths and Crow placed himself protectively in front of Jay, his blade at Morgan's throat. "**Back off, Cheap.**" He hissed threateningly. Morgan raised his hands in surrender, his heart pounding; he had no doubt whatsoever that the man in front of him would kill him without hesitation if he perceived him as a threat.

Jay felt sick and ashamed of her reaction; it was just Morgan. Once, a long time ago, when freedom had seemed like a possibility, she had hoped she might be able to hide who she had become. The murderer she had become. It was a foolish hope; in a split second she had shown Morgan exactly who she was.

She put the knife back in the sheath at her lower back and placed her hand on Crow's arm. "**It's okay. He won't hurt me. Let's just go.**"

Crow waited a moment before lowering his knife. He gave Morgan a long, calculating look before turning and walking out of the room with Jay. Morgan let out a breath he hadn't realised he'd been holding, then watched with tears in his eyes as JJ left without turning back.

* * *

Jay and Crow sat down with their backs against the wall of the mess room. Jay robotically transferred a slice of spam to Crow's plate. She picked at her food, lost in thought.

"**Who is he?**" Crow asked quietly, looking over at Morgan, who had sat down next to a couple of other Cheaps in the opposite corner of the room. They both ducked their heads as a Watcher walked past them.

Jay waited until he was out of earshot before answering. "**I knew him, before. We were friends once.**"

"**Once?**"

"**I betrayed a friend of ours, a very good friend. I got her killed.**" She said softly.

"**I'm sorry.**" Crow replied. Jay didn't answer. She had an opportunity to redeem herself for that betrayal now. It didn't matter why Morgan was here; she had to help him escape, before he got in too deep.

* * *

Morgan watched JJ from across the room; at first she just stared into space, her face a mask. The man sat next to her- who Morgan assumed was 'crow', the man from the boat- split his focus between watching JJ and scanning the rest of the room for threats. When he brought her out of her reverie, she did the same, her eyes darting around the room, automatically assessing, calculating.

They were both afraid of the men in jeans and boots, Lex had called them 'watchers'. It pained him to see how JJ shrunk backwards whenever they were near her, as if hoping the wall could offer her some kind of protection. He couldn't help but notice that JJ and Crow also drew closer to each other when the watchers were near.

"I wouldn't stare at those two if I were you" A voice next to him whispered. Morgan looked around in shock; Lex had told him that no-one inside the Ghost Traders spoke English. "They'd gut you as soon as look at you." The face belonging to the voice grinned slyly at him.

"Don't listen to him. They're just more on edge than usual because they've got a fight coming up." The man sat next to him said. His face was black and blue, with one of his eyes swollen shut. "They only kill if the Lieutenant tells them to." He gestured towards the plate of food in Morgan's hand. He'd managed to eat a slice of spam and a small amount of mashed potatoes before his stomach turned. "You gonna eat that?"

Morgan looked down at his plate, then shook his head. Faster than the eye could follow it was in the hands of the other man, who wolfed it down without a second thought.

"What's their story?" Morgan asked casually.

"They're partners in fights. Have been for almost six months apparently. Weird bond they've got going though." The man who had eaten Morgan's food replied.

"No it's more than that, I heard he saved her life in some kind of experiment or something." The other man hissed.

"I heard it the other way around, that she saved his life. That-' the man was cut off as a baton hit him with such force it knocked him sideways onto the floor. Then Morgan cried out as he felt metal crack across his shoulders.

"Vy govorite na russkom ili ne na vsekh! Ponimayete" (**You speak Russian, or not at all! Understand!**) A voice behind him barked. Morgan grunted in pain and clutched at his back as he was kicked twice in the kidneys, only to receive a swift blow across his chest. "Ponimayete?!" The watcher shouted again.

Across from Morgan, the man he had been talking to had curled into a ball to try to protect himself from the watcher but screamed out a reply. "Da! Ya ponimayu!" (**Yes! I understand!) **the man screamed in fear as the watcher raised his baton again but did not hit him; he just laughed as the man cowered on the floor.

That didn't help Morgan though, who had raised his arms to protect his head from an onslaught of vicious blows. "Ponimayete?!"

"Da!" Morgan shouted, "Da!"

The blows stopped, and the man looming over him watched him intently, daring him to move. Morgan didn't even dare breathe. He didn't even move after the watchers had gone, he just sat there in shock. What the hell had he gotten himself into? How had JJ survived here? If he was entirely honest, he wasn't sure he wanted to know the answer.

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Hope you enjoyed the chapter, it was surprisingly difficult to write... Don't forget to review :)


	16. Chapter 16

A/N so this chapter turned out a bit longer than I expected so some of what I planned will have to go into the next chapter. Anyways I hope you enjoy this chapter, again, surprisingly hard to write simply because I have no experience of any kind of fighting so just roll with it okay?

Thanks especially to snuggleUP, Cupcake, Casie01, rmpcmfan, Jareau37, Leslet and HD. You guys provide the ATP required to keep my plot bunnies hopping :)

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They had twenty minutes or so before they were due in the training room. The Ghosts all sat in their quarters in silence. Jay, Crow and Smiler went through their morning rituals; the rituals that reminded them why they had to make it through each day. Jay cleaned off one of her knives with ethanol before making the first cut. It was only shallow, but it didn't need to be deep. Each line of blood was a vow, a vow to make their deaths mean something. Even Smiler took that vow seriously.

22 were official; the lives she had taken fighting for the Lieutenant, Boston or Washington. They were on her forearm, always visible and constant reminder. The other 12 were not. They were for the lives she had taken when nothing was at stake. She had killed three people just in the last month, not including the Watcher. They had all been Cheaps who had failed to prove themselves to the Lieutenant.

But that did not mean their deaths weighed any less heavily on her conscience. Those 12 cuts were on the left side of her stomach, hidden from view. Sentimentality was not looked upon with kindness in her world.

She brushed her thumb tenderly over the blue jays on her forearm. To Crow, they were her namesake and yet they were so much more than that. She traced the number that lay above them. 41326. Just for a moment she was back in Washington, listening to a man who was promising to save her, before the First… Before he…

_No. You don't want to remember Jason like that._ She scolded herself. He was a good man, she should remember him like that.

Finally, she kissed the broken chess piece, a black bishop, which was tied to a piece of string around her neck. The Boston Second was kind to his Ghosts; most Lieutenants did not allow their Ghosts to keep personal items. The Second did. "**To live is to choose**" She whispered to herself.

In the cage next to hers, Crow kissed a crumpled photo. It was so crumpled and water damaged that he could no longer see that face that had once been in it but that didn't matter; it was the last link he had to his brother and the sacrifice he had made. He refolded the photo put it back into the fabric of his shorts, between the elastic and the cotton of the waistband. He too whispered "**To live is to choose**"

Across from them, Smiler murmured the same thing.

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All the Ghosts were lined up in the training room. Crow, Jay and Smiler on the right hand side, the 8 Cheaps on the left hand side. Jay glanced across at them; 1336 must still be in the Dark. Morgan thankfully, was keeping his eyes on the floor. Apparently he had learned his lesson earlier.

Only the Minor Baton was present today. Jay didn't like him much; he was very good with his fists and taught the Cheaps well, but he didn't know how to handle a knife properly. Chances were she'd have to teach the Cheaps as well today, rather than just training with Crow. And of course someone would have to test Morgan, she just hoped it wasn't her.

"**1315, 1316, 1328 and 1330. You will work with Smiler.**" The Baton said sharply. Unfortunately only one of the Cheaps had learned his name so he pointed at the four Cheaps he meant and then at Smiler, who grinned at them. None of them moved; you didn't have to speak Russian to know that Smiler was dangerous.

"**Move! Now! I won't say it again!**" the Baton shouted impatiently, clapping his hands to jump start the Cheaps into movement. Smiler led them away to the far end of the room to the fighting mat.

"**Crow, take 1317, 1320 and 1329. They need to work on their knife skills."**

Crow nodded once and motioned towards the trio for them to follow him. Jay closed her eyes for a moment. Only she and Morgan were left.

"**Mutt, you will begin testing 1372."**

"**Yes, Sir.**" Jay replied, turning towards Morgan and jerking her head towards the Cage on their left. She caught a flash of recognition on his face as he looked at it. Walking over, she removed the knives from her back, hip and thigh along with their sheaths and placed them on the ground outside the cageThe Baton opened the door and she stepped through it. Morgan was shoved through after.

Jay watched him closely. He was looking at her warily but he was uncertain; he didn't want to fight her, didn't want to hurt her. In a way this puzzled her, after all the pain she had caused him with Emily… Well, if their roles had been reversed she would want to beat the crap out of him. _Yeah, I'd want to. Maybe JJ wouldn't have though. _She frowned involuntarily. _Jennifer Jareau is dead._

"**Begin.**" The Baton barked, hitting the bars of the Cage with his baton.

Jay raised her fists and Morgan, seeing her movement, did the same. She knew she couldn't pull her punches, if she did then the Baton would notice and punish them both- or worse start asking why. Hating herself for it, she darted forward and planted a swift blow on Morgan's before sweeping his legs from beneath him and rolling away.

Morgan landed hard on his side before standing again. He made no attempt to fight back. Again Jay leapt forward, jabbing at his throat and then his stomach before retreating back again. He gasped for breath and leaned against the bars for support.

The Baton quickly shocked him with the cattle prod. He was getting impatient.

Morgan didn't know what to do. JJ was his friend; he had come here to save her, not to beat her up. Hadn't she been through enough? Even when she put him on his arse he couldn't bring himself to fight back. Her next move was a shock to him though. Whenever they had trained together in the past, she'd never gone for the throat. She'd said it was fighting dirty.

Lex had warned him that he needed to impress the 'Baton' in the first round, the hand to hand combat, or he would have to go to the second round with knives. Suddenly, he realised his reluctance to hit JJ was virtually non-existent if it prevented him from having to attack her with a knife. Morgan almost gave a bitter laugh; just going by her reaction earlier, she could wield a knife far more dangerously than he could.

He felt a shock of electricity. Pushing himself off of the bars and took up a proper fighting stance, bouncing on the balls of his feet, fists raised.

This time when JJ jabbed at his shoulder he blocked her punch threw his own in return. He ended up swinging at air as she feinted out of the way and then kneed him in the gut. He threw himself at her, tackling her to the ground. He was about to punch her in the face but hesitated. Her eyes were pleading with him, as if she wanted him to do it.

Jay saw him hesitate. She knew the Baton would see it too. She couldn't pretend she hadn't see the gap in his defence. Wrapping her legs around his waist, she head-butted him and used his disorientation to flip him onto his back. Delivering two swift blows to his ribs and kick to his chin, she jumped back to her feet and backed away, giving his time to regain his senses.

Morgan grimaced as he staggered to his feet. He could taste blood in his mouth and his body hurt like hell. He glanced towards the Baton; he looked bored. He knew he had to go on the offensive. He feinted a left hook but instead brought his leg round to deliver a resounding blow to her side. She was thrown sideways but rolled to recover and kicked at his knee. He stumbled and, now brought to her level, she elbowed him in the face, the vertex of her elbow cracking against his cheek bone.

Morgan reacted instinctively; he rolled with the blow and spun round, driving his elbow into the back of her head and leaping up to kick her in the back, sending her sprawling forwards. She coughed violently and his blood ran cold. He could see the specks of blood that appeared on the floor of the cage as she coughed.

Jay thought she was going to throw up. She'd seen Morgan's elbow coming a mile away but slowed her reaction just enough that his blow would find its mark without letting the Baton think she was throwing the fight. Now she regretted it. As if her headache hadn't been bad enough already, now it felt like someone was trying to drill their way through her skull.

Her entire body convulsed as she coughed, her throat was dry and hoarse. Dazed, her eyes darted towards Morgan, hoping he would use this opportunity to end the fight, to make sure she couldn't get up. He didn't. He hung back, waiting for her to recover.

Morgan was relieved when she got back to her feet. That relief was short-lived however when she jumped towards him and upwards, grabbing the bars of the cage to ploughing both of her feet into his chest. He was rammed backwards against the bars, but didn't have a chance to register their collision with his shoulder blades and JJ swung herself forward and pounded blow after blow into his body.

He couldn't help it, he was angry. He swung blindly at her stomach and then brought his knee into her chest as she doubled over. JJ flailed backwards and he kicked her thigh. Almost immediately she went down, gasping in pain. He had to end this, he couldn't take any more. He punched her in the ribs repeatedly, then went to stamp on her wrist. He didn't know what to do or what to think. In all his life he had never hated himself as much as he did in that moment.

Jay couldn't breathe. Her diaphragm was in spasm; she couldn't inhale or cough. She opened and closed her mouth like a guppy fish trying to will air into her lungs. Then the punches stopped and she saw Morgan go to stamp on her wrist. Unfortunately, or luckily she couldn't decide, Ghost instincts don't shut down. Not ever. As he brought his foot down, she flicked her arm around and grabbed his ankle, twisting it so that he lost his balance and fell down heavily across her body.

Within a split second she had her arm around his throat in a chokehold. She was seeing red, the man she was slowly squeezing the life out of was no longer her friend, he was the Watcher who had tried to rape her not 48 hours ago.

Suddenly the Baton shouted. "**Alright that's enough! Stop!**" Jay held on for just a second longer before releasing him, then scrambled away, disgusted with herself. Morgan too leapt up and away, his chest heaving, staring at her in horror.

It was too much for Jay, she leant to the side and threw up. Getting to her feet, she drove the heel of her palm into the bars of the cage, furious and revolted with herself. She crouched with her head in her hands.

The Baton hauled Morgan out of the cage and shoved him in the direction of Crow. He wasn't off the hook. He would have to fight with knives tomorrow. Then the Baton turned back to Jay. "**Mutt, clean up your mess. You'll work with Crow after lunch.**" He turned away dismissively and went to inspect the Ghosts working with Smiler.

Jay just sat in utter dismay. She had just tried to kill someone who had been one of her best friends.

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So I hope you enjoyed that chapter, we'll back with the team for a bit in the next. As always, don't forget to let me know what you think


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